The Gate of Heavenly Peace
by Andrea Weiling
Summary: I haven't really heard anyone doing this before except for a few, but I've decided to take a historical event that I've had my eye on and mix it up with FY. Kinda strange. Just be patient for the plot to form, will you? It's PG-13 for later stuff.
1. Any Last Words?

Ch.1: Any Last Words?  
  
The sky was red with sunset and fire. With desperate eyes I scanned my eyes over   
the rest of the city, then over the paltry remainder of the palace guard that had been. On   
my back, a boy of no more than fifteen years was being carried by me. He was dressed in   
tattered, ripped, but still fine silks. He had lost one fine shoe, but he had not   
complained. I smiled inwardly. , I mentally commented to him.   
  
A yell in front of me snapped me back to attention. Quickly I set the boy down and   
held onto him with one arm. He clung half to me, half to the fabric at his side, trying to   
be strong. His voice barely cracked a whisper. "Chichiri", he had dropped all formality   
and was just using my name, "what's happening?"  
  
I did not have a chance to answer, for then something the size of a small earthquake  
rocked the ground beneath us and we tumbled in a bundle into the ditch beside the road.   
Before he could react or cry out, I shouted above the melee for the remainder of the guard   
to line up, picket-fence-like, and pick off anyone they saw. The location gave a bit of   
advantage; the ditch was higher up than the rest of the road, so we were able to hold off   
for a little while until I could get the boy to safety. Speaking of such, I looked over to   
him. He looked like he was still in the palace, somehow, with cheeks smudges with the ashes  
of the throne room, his clothes clawed upon by greedy merchants that did not realize just   
who they were grabbing at. He was the emperor, the emperor of Konan.  
  
Konan was up in flames. How ironic it was that Suzaku was our god.  
  
"Shichiseishi Chichiri", he said, suddenly businesslike, "what actions are to be   
taken now?" He was looking up at me with expectant - and familiar - eyes. I knew he   
resented being carried around like a child, like a piece of luggage, but there had been no   
other way to save Hotohori's child. Of course, Boushin had learned swordplay since he was a  
child, but he had lost his sword a while back, in the ruins of the streets. I prayed that   
it would come to good use in some poor commoner's hands; that was Hotohori's sword, and it   
should never be used for anything other than for the good of Konan.  
  
"We are going to defend this road until help arrives", I replied and purposefully   
dropped the trademark 'no da' s that made my character cheerful. This was not time for   
cheer. This was time for seriousness. I never did like that much.  
  
"If help arrives?", the young emperor echoed my words. "I do not think help will   
arrive at this desperate hour -" He was cut off by a sudden surge of men from the other   
side of the enemy. Over the din I heard a familiar incantation, followed by a burst of   
flame that left corpses smoking. I turned back to Emperor Boushin and gave him a firm look,  
but not at all displeased at this turn of events. "You see", I said conversationally,   
"help has arrived".  
  
The boy frowned. "That is hardly enough to sustain us for more than a few hours".  
  
"We will make our disappearance then", I answered.  
  
He turned to me, his silks flying furiously against the onslaught of warm wind. We   
knew what it was, the ashes of the fire that licked at our cheeks and turned our clothes and   
faces a dreary gray. For a moment I saw his father instead, calm and defiant at the same   
time. They both had the characteristic elegance even in the most desperate of times, had   
that special air around them that commanded all attention no matter if he was in the crowd   
or on the stage giving a speech to the people. This was the similarities between father and  
son. His eyes were ablaze now. "No!", he cried, the hands making fists at his sides, "I   
won't run like I did to Mother!"  
  
I had taken him away from the room then. The palace would have been the last place   
to hide, but the Empress had insisted that there were some things she needed to pack away   
and take before she and the rest of the court fled the city. They would be able find refuge  
in the mountains near Tamahome's village, close to Kutou but not too close to attack. No   
one would want to anyway; it was too small a town to attack and it was situated at a   
cleverly concealed strategical point. But they never got there; the enemy had gotten   
through the (formerly) impenetrable wall around the palace, and in the confusion I only had   
time to grab the emperor and one stop at the rooms for his sword, and then we were off with   
what remained of the guard. When I found the emperor he was standing over his mother, a   
look of abject disbelief on his face. He cried her name several times before I dragged him   
away.  
  
It had been purely by chance I was there. I had been scheduled to leave the next   
day to the front lines and see what I could do to help there. Now, I had not the chance.   
There was no front line, as there was no Konan army, no beautiful capitol city, no busy   
villagers bustling in marketplaces. Just broken streets and flames everywhere.   
  
Calmly I looked over the sea of men dying and towards the sunset. It looked more   
like the demise of a kingdom than a sunset, but right now who was to thidecide that? Half-  
hearted he threw blows at me, so slow that even Chiriko could have dodged them. And when   
his momentum carried him too far that one moment, I tapped him on the base of his neck and   
he fell limp into my arms. Checking to see all that was supposed to be carried was still on  
my back, I picked up the boy and began to run. As I ran I caught the eye of one of the   
bandits that I passed by. He was back-to-back with another. He wielded two swords and I   
recognized him immediately from the scar down one cheek. As repayment for the hospitality   
he had shown to me last time I visited Mt. Leikaku, I took out a small knife and flung it at  
one particularly sneaky fellow that was almost upon him. He turned to look, then turned   
back and nodded his head. "For the visit", I mouthed to him, and he shot me a grim smile   
before turning back to his work of cutting down everyone before him. I hurried on.  
  
It was not until much later did I hear pursuers behind me.   
  
, I wondered now. Rightly, I could not recall whether  
I had enough energy or not to summon a location but I guess I must have considered it,   
because I could remember flinging my kasa away to the wind. It would be of no use here.  
  
There were heavily breaths behind me now. I had to hurry. I had to find a hiding   
spot before they caught up with me. On impulse I sped up a little and used all my cunning   
to dodge from one tree to another, trying to lose them in the tangle of undergrowth and   
looming forest. I rounded down a hill and stopped behind a tree. As I guessed, the   
pursuers ran past me, down the rest of the hill, either thinking I was before them or could   
not stop their momentum. I saw that there were five of them, all armed, and I knew that   
they were not friends.  
  
Doubling back I hit the main road on a surge of desperation. I had to get the   
emperor to safety! The path wound into a small one, too small even for a child's wagon. I   
struggled through brambles to the end of the path and sighed with relief. A cottage was   
there, with warm lights shining from within.  
  
I slunk into the shadows by the door, then quietly knocked on it. I prayed it was   
not some hideout for the enemy. Fortunately, I was blessed, for it was no face of a soldier  
that peered down into the darkness, but the kind face of a farmer. Before he could fully   
close the door I was up, and blocked it with my foot. I must have looked hideous, for he   
gasped in surprise and let the door hang open. Swiftly looking behind me, I stepped inside   
and shut the door with one toe as I looked to the occupants of the room.  
  
The mother seemed to take in the bundle in my arms first, for she hustled forth and   
took the boy from me. I sighed with relief that my burden was lifted, but I knew I could   
not stay. The farmer must have seen the fabulously priced silks that the boy still wore,   
for suddenly he knew that this was no ordinary boy. Immediately he looked at me, and I   
gestured to the red symbol on my knee, still too winded to speak.  
  
The farmer gave a nod. "I will come back and tell you everything", I managed to   
say, "but I must return". The couple nodded, and I sighed wearily. I waved a hand towards   
the candles that lit up the whole house and immediately the farmer went upstairs to blow   
them out. I waved my thanks to the farmer's wife, and then wheezed out, "Hide him", and   
made my way out of the door.  
  
I led the pursuers back to the losing battle. Apparently someone had found that the  
emperor had been removed and now, with nothing to fight for, they had begun to fight in   
desperation for their lives. I took my staff and began to fight. It was not until several   
months later that I saw Tasuki at all.  
  
Apparently I had been incorrect. There was a front line to Konan's surviving   
forces, disorganized as it was. But even with Tasuki and I working at two different ends,   
trying to boost up morale, everyone knew it wouldn't matter in the end. Already some people  
were leaving for home, deserters that didn't care about the glory of their country for   
their emperor anymore. No one stopped them. No one called them names or tried to insult   
them. It was all very understandable to each other, and we didn't blame them for leaving.   
Instead, we gave them our blessing; in the end, they would be all that was left of Konan.  
  
The fighting began in earnest again three days after I had led the remainder of the   
guard to the front lines. Tasuki and the rest of the bandits had already left. We had   
remained to bury who we could, not caring if it was friend or foe. When we got started to   
fight again, it felt monotonous, a feeling we all felt now. There was no glory in this,   
none at all; all there was a weariness that wore away at flesh and bone until there would be  
nothing left.  
  
Men died beside me, but by some twist of fate I managed to survive until the last   
charge. We had all known it was coming; there was no way around it. To my amazement and   
temporary disbelief, there was Tasuki, still larger than life, standing in the dike we had   
dug , surveying the land while both sides took a rest. We did not speak.  
  
Then the arrows began to whistle again, and I turned my head away. Around us both,   
men fell with cries or grunts, or some silently, knowing death had come on silent wings and   
that they would not be able to escape. Tasuki rounded up the rest of the men that were   
still surviving, and all together they formed a last, desperate plan that they knew would   
not work. I took no part in the forming of the attack, though one young soldier did ask for  
my opinion. I don't think Tasuki realized I was there, standing beside him, until the   
soldier pointed him out to me. Finally, the soldiers with one remaining captain at their   
head, would lead the attack, while the last half of us brought the rear. We would wait an   
hour, until we were sure all the arrows we had were spent.  
  
As we sat waiting, we said nothing to each other. We heard the dull rumbling of the  
first wave of our last warriors leaving, and still we sat. Tasuki had not gone with the   
second wave, either, when it left, but instead turned to me once it had left and the dike   
was empty, and said, "You have to stay here, Chichiri".  
  
I gazed at him as coolly as I could with my one eye, and countered like I had   
Boushin not-so-long ago, "And why is that?"  
  
He gestured vaguely to the archers above our heads. "They need someone to lead   
them", and then he looked at me closely. "Someone both they know, and I know, that they can  
trust. That would be you".  
  
"What makes you think I will consent to this?", I asked.  
  
He gave a snort. "You've never denied me anything before, Chichiri." , I said   
softly to myself,   
  
He grasped his tessen. "I'm going", he said, and began to climb his way out. I   
grasped his ankle and pulled him back down. He looked at me blankly once he had slid down.   
Normally I would have expected him to scream and rant about how hurt his face was, but now   
he just regarded me, waiting for whatever I was going to say. And suddenly I could find no   
words.  
  
"Don't tell me not to go, Chichiri. You know better than to stop me."  
  
I nodded, and once he was gone I made my way to higher ground, where the archers   
were shooting. Giving out commands were easy; formations were easy, as were the evaluating   
of desperate situations that we all knew we would never get out of, and whoever had hope had  
it blown away when both waves diminished and then disappeared completely. There was only   
us, now. I turned my head away when the soldier piled onto our forces. I was thrown back   
into the bottom of the dike until some soldiers came around, looking for any survivors and   
put them out of their misery. When they came to me, I turned my head and shut my eyes. I   
did not see the face of the soldier that killed me.  
  
Nor did I see when Tasuki died. All I felt was the twang of nothingness I expected   
to feel, like I had felt Nuriko and Mitsukake and Chiriko and Hotohori died. I did not know  
that he was the last person standing in the second wave, still firing 'Lekka Shien' s left   
and right even as he went down. And when the sword came plummeting at me, all I could   
regret was that Tasuki would be shouting at me now for being a coward.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Actually, I had thought that I shouldn't put this chapter up. But it seemed a shame  
to throw the idea away, so I just put it in anyways. Next chapter coming up soon, but   
there won't be any actual action for a little while.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	2. A Trip Back Home

Ch.2: A Trip Back Home  
  
As partners, we always went out to lunch together. I never packed lunches for   
myself for work, but I did bring something to eat, as scant as it was. It was usually just   
a few crackers and a bottle of water or some leftover cold coffee from the morning. But I   
never had any bread or cheese or ham in the house because I didn't need it; work sustained   
me, and it was all I knew to do. My partner was almost the opposite; he went out almost   
every night and attended parties and went into bars and pubs, taking care not to get sick   
enough to miss work the next day. That had happened once, and the boss had almost fired   
him. I wasn't surprised that I had chosen a irresponsible partner; on the contrary, we   
faced off well, him willing to go at all sides for information for the articles we wrote in   
newspapers and journals. Usually they were all about local scandals and what might happen   
if a person did this and if he pleaded innocent what would happen…I had studied law for a   
good part of my education, and he had studied enough grammar to make me wince. It didn't   
seem like my partner to study the language like he did, but he was the better writer; I was   
just his editor/sidekick in crime.  
  
Work was always priority to me.  
  
But once, in college, I had decided on a rather strange subject to take. I had not   
the faintest idea why I took it, but perhaps it was because my partner had grown up with the  
language and I wished to talk with him in a language other than English. He was born and   
raised in China, and had literally 'escaped' when he had written a scandalous article that   
actually got published. The government had gotten hold of it and vowed to arrest him. But   
he escaped, with help of 'contacts', and now he was here, working with me, a pure bred and   
born Englishman who didn't look English; in fact, the first time he saw me he thought I was   
Chinese, or at least Asian in some manner. I did not know what to say to that; everyone   
said that. I did not look anything like the other members of my family, with smaller,   
slanted eyes and one bang of hair that just stuck straight up and refused to be tamed with   
anything. In fact, people could have sworn my hair was blue, but I didn't believe them. It  
was a strange light color, white and silver almost, like an albino, but my eyes were blue   
or some other color that was undiscernable by people.  
  
We always went out to the same place for lunch. I ate my crackers, he had a smoke,   
and then we would go back to the office after half an hour and work. He would work on one   
page, I would work on the other. It was strange to see us, the odd pair, working so   
diligently with each other. But today he must have had something else in mind, because he   
was carrying a sheaf of papers I had not seen on his desk earlier. Just his desk was   
another source of difference; it was clearly untidy, while mine was neat, with all the   
papers stacked and filed in order, and pencils and pens lined up ready to be used tomorrow.   
I didn't quite care though; he had something up his sleeve.  
  
He took a puff of his cigarette and let it out slowly. I took a drink of the water   
and took the sheaf of papers he handed me. I gave him a look he returned smugly and began   
to read the first few lines. I had not gone two words before he leaned forward and said   
delightedly, "Ever wanted to visit China?"  
  
I wondered why he suddenly brought this up. I continued to read, but leaned half   
an ear towards his chatter. This was something I needed to know.  
  
"Things are warming up in China", he said, and I gave a vague nod. I had known what  
was happening in Beijing at the moment: students were starting to rise up against the   
Communist government for democracy. This was good; Communist would never succeed for too   
long before the people all realized it was the wrong form of government to use in a large   
country like China. "If we take the job, we'll be in the thick of it."  
  
"Thick of what?", I asked, not looking up. I could tell that he was taking another   
breath at his cigarette.  
  
He raised his hands. "The protests, of course!"  
  
I closed up the folder and put it on the table. Raising an eyebrow, I put as much   
sarcasm into my voice as possible, "And this will be safe?"  
  
He grinned. "Not at all. It'll be as risky as if we were herons among chickens."  
  
I gave him a dubious look. I should have trusted my partner to come up with these   
schemes. The boss didn't care, as long as we gave him good work for the journal. "And the   
work I'm doing now? When will I finish that?"  
  
He gave me a lazy cat's smile. "Today", he answered.  
  
"That's too short a time."  
  
"Then get moving, Houjun", he got up and left me with the folder. I didn't go until  
half an hour was almost up.  
  
It was true. I had wanted to go to China even before I had taken that class in   
college. As I had come from a small, rural village in the middle of Britain somewhere that   
no one had heard of, there was no class there to teach me any language other than English.   
China fascinated me when I learned of it when I was a child. Back then China had just been   
open to the world and trade had just begun, but the things I saw when I went into town and   
into that little Chinese store full of knickknacks and random Chinese objects fascinated me.  
Some of my friends in my childhood attended the church at the end of the road, but my   
father and I believed in everything.   
  
The little man who opened the store spoke little English. Even then, I couldn't   
understand what he was saying anyway. So I just looked at the price tags and worked at the   
small job I had as an errand boy for the mayor and saved up for one book, the only book that  
was there, written in the strange, beautiful script I was fascinated with. As a child I   
had vowed that one day I would read that book, and when I did, I loved and cherished it. As  
for the old man, he must have been desperate to come here the first chance he had and   
settle in the little town. I had not been gone for a few months before I heard he died. I   
wondered how he managed to keep the shop open; I always seemed to be the only customer. But  
surprising, when he died, all his possessions suddenly belonged to me.  
It would seem that the old man had realized my love for Chinese culture. In his   
will (written in Chinese and had to be translated by a passing merchant), he expressed that   
all possessions were to go to the "little boy at the end of town, in the hut with the willow  
tree in front of it". That was me, and eventually all materials did come to me, in   
college. I had only started with the book, but faster and faster I read it, and when the   
old man's possessions arrived, I could hardly be more inspired to read the rest of the book.  
  
The book was a religious book, Buddhism, a subject I later became very fluent in.   
Buddhism did not come from China, but there were more followers there than anywhere else in   
the world.  
  
China was my place to be.  
  
* * *  
  
We left the next morning. So far I had refrained from asking my partner where we   
were going to stay when we got there. He seemed to feel my question rather than hear it,   
and answered that we would be staying his brother's small flat in the midst of all the   
hubbub that was Beijing right now. Hikou was from China after all; his eyes, his hair, it   
wasn't as if I envied him because he had a place to go back to, but because he was from   
China, the place I had always wanted to be. I also envied another thing about my partner,   
though I had never seen his family: he had a brother. Supposedly, his name was Kouji (odd   
name, sounds more Japanese than Chinese, but I shouldn't be one to judge that) and he had   
taken over his father's farm when my partner, who should have taken the farm, left to study   
in Europe. But once he had heard that the students were starting to stir up in Beijing, he   
left his (very able) mother and sisters to run the farm, and went off to study in Beijing,   
hoping that he would be at least able to stay there doing odd jobs. He was still there, so   
we were going to bunk in with him, hopefully only for a short time until all of this boiled   
over or we got too much information and worked on writing rather than studying the people of  
Beijing.  
  
From what I had heard so far, Beijing was dirty, filled with people, and full of   
culture and life. I could hardly wait. I had not felt this way in years, I told myself   
giddily, but this was different. I was going somewhere I wanted to go! This was what I had  
wanted to do when I became a journalist.  
  
The moment I stepped off of the plane the hot air hit me. It was almost summer,   
anyway, so this was expected. But in Britain where I lived it rarely got this hot. Already  
I was pulling at my already light T-shirt and shorts, but my partner hardly seemed to be   
affected at all. He was at home here, I noticed by the way he leaned into the heat   
comfortingly. As if he had felt me watching him, he turned to me and said clearly, in   
Chinese, "Houjun, can you believe it? I am home, finally after all these years."  
  
Oddly, I felt I was at home too.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Hmm, wonder just WHY Houjun feels so incredibly with China...kinda obvious isn't it?  
Ah, things'll heat up soon. Tasuki hasn't entered the picture just yet, but when he does  
you'll see what happens.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	3. Magic, the Gathering

Ch.3: Magic, the Gathering  
  
We arrived on the day Hu Yaobang died, April 15, 1989. We didn't know anything   
about this character until Kouji arrived and began to explain. He was a bright and   
energetic boy, somewhat sarcastic and cynical, but always ready to answer a question we   
weren't sure about. It was amazing; we had barely gotten off the plane and there was   
already something to take note of. He pointed out everything; his level of observance was   
very keen. He pointed out several things I would not have immediately noticed if I had not   
been looking carefully: soldiers, tidily dressed in pressed uniforms, carrying live bayonets  
and looking as if nothing in the world could touch them; a sign, hastily ripped down by   
scrawling curve marks of bayonet tips, but still clearly the sign read "Down with Zhao   
Ziyang". I turned to Kouji and wordlessly pointed to the sign.  
  
"Oh", he said after a moment, peering over the heads of the many people in the   
airport. "That sign." He paused and thought for a moment, looking around. "I think we   
should save this for the apartment", he said quietly. I had barely noticed all the people   
around me were rapidly chattering in Mandarin Chinese, a language I had not practiced for   
some time, but after a few minutes of earnest listening to the conversations around me, I   
fell into their mode of speech. I licked my lips and spoke crackly Chinese, as well as I   
could imitate it, to the guard who was holding up my partner and my luggage from the plane.   
Many people were there, too many people. Perhaps some of them were thieves, wanting to   
steal the luggage before it got back into their owner's hands.  
  
I had brought nothing in that luggage bag other than a scant two changes of clothes   
and the necessities. I didn't want to overburden Hikou or myself in coming here; it would   
probably be a short stay and we would probably be gone before the action even actually   
started. We were just here to report, and for Hikou to see his family. He had to be   
careful, though, not to cause any 'unnecessary trouble' and cause the attention of the   
guards. "Once you get out of China", he said conspiratorially to me once, "it is best you   
stay out. China doesn't go after you once you're out of the country unless you've done   
something to destroy the Party's reputation. And don't think they'll blast it over the   
wireless either! They'll keep your execution nice and secret."  
  
The flat was small, sparsely furnished, and strangely comforting. There were plain   
white (more yellow than white) walls that covered a living room, a bedroom (with a kitchen   
beside it) and a bathroom. Everything there smelled fresh and cleaner than the rest of   
Beijing. I could only guess that Kouji had taken some time to clean it out before we   
settled in. He had already laid out two mattresses on the floor for us to sleep on, with   
blankets on top. "But you won't need them", he said. I had to blink a few times before I   
realized what was wrong.  
  
"Why are there only two beds, Kouji?", I felt unused to calling a person by his   
first name when I had just met him, but Kouji gave me no more choice. "Aren't you living   
here too?"  
  
At this, Kouji just shook his head broadly, showing a scar on one cheek. It looked   
faded, almost like it was healed but a certain point just refused to close up and stopped   
healing halfway. The shake was embarrassed, bashfully prideful about something. I was   
puzzled, as was his older brother. "You see", Kouji started with his sun-tanned cheeks   
turning darker, "I got into Beijing University a month ago and I'm living in the dorm."  
  
At this, his brother gave a cry of happiness and grinned widely. I found I was   
smiling too as the brothers embraced. "Good, good", my partner said over and over. "We   
should celebrate somehow, you know? In America, those crazy people celebrate over   
everything. They don't care if it's for a birthday or for a presidential election, but they  
celebrate all day long. I wonder how they get all their work done to support such a large   
country!"  
  
We all laughed, but then I dug into my carry-on bag and brought out a notepad.   
Hikou and his brother took the cue and sat down. It was time to get to business.  
  
It would seem that the Chinese had finally begun to find flaws in their government.   
The Communist government seemed to want to cover up everything that was ugly and shouldn't   
be seen by the rest of the world, and only bring out their best. Unfortunately, their   
'best' was not half as good as the students in the universities would like to see it. It   
would seem that this was started some time ago, before my time, on May 4th, 1919.   
Demonstrations were put up by college students to protest the terms of the Versailles   
Treaty, which gave German territories in China to Japan rather than returning them to China   
after World War I. The "May 4th Period" followed this development, inaugurating a new phase  
of national consciousness in Chinese youth, symbolizing the spirit of patriotism among   
youths. It was the start of an intensive era of intellectual debate concerning the roles of  
traditional Chinese culture, the development of modern science, and Western style   
democracy.  
  
Then came the "Cultural Revolution", as Mao Zedong called it, but instead it was   
referred to as the "ten years of turmoil" by all others. There were power struggles among   
the Chinese leadership, rise of the "Red Guards" and "revolutionary revels" among the   
population, and by persecutions of all sectors of Chinese society. It was here that Deng   
Xiaoping and other leaders fell from power. Premier Zhou Enlai died in the last year, and   
in April, thousands of people gathered in Tiananmen Square to commemorate him. The police   
killed whoever were mourners, and the government branded it as a revolutionary act called   
the "Tiananmen Incident". "But that's not true!", Kouji struggled furiously with his words,  
trying to win us over when we already believed him. "These people had the right to do   
this! If hei ren (blacks) in America have the right to go to church and sing their songs,   
why should the Chinese be denied the right to mourn a decent man?"  
  
"Who, then, is Ziao Ziyang?", I asked when Kouji had not mentioned him. "You have   
not talked about him at all. Was he one of the leaders that fell from power?"  
  
Kouji stopped and looked at me. I did not think he was expecting such a question so  
soon. He gave a slow, sad smile and said, "Not yet. I haven't gotten there yet." He   
stood up and opened the window. The flat didn't have any air conditioning, so it was   
burning hot and we were already sweating horribly. But then a breeze blew in, warm but   
refreshing, and Kouji stared outside. The view from the window just skimmed the top of the   
buildings in Beijing, punctuated only by scant trees and parks and cars, occasionally. Most  
people rode bicycles instead. He didn't look at me or Hikou as he spoke.  
  
"Do you see this?", he said in choppy English. I jolted in surprise. I didn't   
think he could speak the language, so I had asked everything in Chinese so far. "This is my  
home. This is China for many foreigners. They never see the fields or the rice paddies   
stretching out, nor do they meet the people who tend them. They only see the dirtiness, the  
scrunginess, and the people who are too unfortunate."  
  
I bowed my head. I didn't think it was necessary to say anything.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that day we found that people, college students from universities in Beijing,   
mostly, were gathering in Tiananmen Square to mourn Hu Yaobang. I got the distinct feeling   
that there was a connection between this former Party General Secretary and the current one,  
Ziao Ziyang. But Hu Yaobang was never far from the students' minds because of his   
apparent love for the students.   
  
The telephone rang from somewhere. Kouji smiled apologically, and ran into the   
living room. There were only three items of furniture in the living room: a tattered, dog-  
eared sofa that had only three feet, a small coffee table roughed on the edges and chipped   
on one side, and a lamp that served so little light it could have been dark. The phone was   
on the coffee table, and it looked like it was 20 years old.  
  
A few hurried words and Kouji was back from the phone call. He looked excited,   
scared, but pleased that an opportunity had come so soon. "Kou (note: not "Kou" from   
Bouncer, thank you) just called. He said that everyone willing to participate should meet   
at Tiananmen Square as soon as possible."  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
I hope you know that the Tiananmen Square Massacre really did happen. It happened  
on June 3rd, 1989. Those who didn't know this should be ashamed of themselves; many, many  
people died. The Chinese government still haven't released just how many people they   
killed...it's a sad story. But if you don't get all the political stuff right now, don't  
worry about it. It's not going to be all that important.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	4. Underneath the Stars

Ch. 4: Underneath the Stars  
  
The bus ride was very eventful. Frankly, the bus was filled with college students.   
Hikou and I wasted no time in taking whatever notes we could. I found, in spite of myself,  
that I was writing in Chinese rather than in the language I had been speaking from   
childhood. Once in a while someone would come up to us and ask where we were from; our   
speech was clipped and sudden, not like the natives. Theirs flowed like water, smooth and   
efficient, and I loved it more than I ever could imagine loving English. Several were   
surprised that we spoke Chinese; they apparently didn't think that anyone would want to   
learn their language.  
  
"Why wouldn't people want to learn Chinese?", I asked one of them when this subject   
was brought up.  
  
"I don't think anyone would want to move or live here", a student answered.  
  
Undoubtedly, the entire bus system seemed to be under the students' control. The   
people who weren't students didn't seem to mind (or notice at all, several were sleeping)   
that the buses were turning towards the middle of town, away from their first destination.   
On the way I noticed there were several buses before and after us. The entire system was   
under their control. Students were working the phone and monitor systems, talking back and   
forth between buses. There were students raising a cheer towards the front of the bus.   
Some students were leaning out the windows and waving at people who passed by. Another bus   
behind us had hung a sign from the window hinges reading: "Pray for Hu Yaobang!" in neat   
Chinese calligraphy. I read with a sort of odd sense of pride and apprehension. Did Hikou   
and I know what we were getting into? This place did not seem like any place for someone   
solitary and unused to crowds, like me, to be.  
  
Kouji was on the wave of it all. "Kou just called from Bus 120", he called over the din. "He says that we should keep up the good work, and we will succeed in installing a democratic government!" His announcement initiated a ragged cheer. Even the bus driver raised a fist in the air and shook it like some mighty giant.   
"Who is Kou?", I asked Kouji when he came to check that we were not trampled by the  
crowds moving back and forth from front to back. He just grinned and pointed towards the   
main road where, at the end, I could see a glimpse of red: Tiananmen Square. "You'll find   
out when we get there." I wondered what the secrecy was all about.  
  
But for a scant time, I was too busy to wonder. The word that two foreign reporters  
were aboard Bus 224 spread like wildfire. Very other second the phone that connected the   
bus system rang, and again and again Hikou and I were called to answer questions about the   
British government. As I soon saw, the students highly favored the American government,   
which I was familiar with, but the British were looked high upon as well. After all, who   
had the American gotten their first ideas of what was wrong from? Again and again I was   
forced to answer the same questions. A student near me took notes of my responses on his   
own notepad, and I found it ironic that the reporter was being reported. Plus, the British   
were democratic, regardless of the fact that there was still a King and a Queen. The   
Chinese students knew that the King and Queen did not have power, only prestige and wealth.   
They had kept accurate tabs of every election and every vote that each democratic country   
held.  
  
I learned quickly that the Chinese picked up foreign words and meanings very fast.   
Since my Chinese was somewhat rusty from years of on and off use, I sometimes needed to use   
English to explain. I was not surprised that most of the students knew English; hearing   
Kouji speak made me know that I should not assume anything of these scholars.   
  
When we got there, we were ushered to a rather larger tent to the side of the main   
road. Some tourists, probably from Europe, were staring and pointing rather ludicrously at   
some of the students that had gathered to one side of the road. I stared in repressed anger  
at these people, and called out in the loudest, clearest voice I had, "Please stop staring   
at the demonstration and pay attention to your own pictures!" in English. They jolted, and   
frantically looked around for the person who spoke considerably good English in contrast to   
the slight slang that the Beijingers had from Mandarin. Kouji looked at me in surprise (I   
don't think he realized that I would have the gall to make myself stand out from anything),   
but Hikou just calmly lit a cigarette and patted me in a comrade-in-arms fashion. Some   
other students we were walking with snickered, and the foreigners looked insulted. However,  
they did not try to shut the students up.  
  
It was stifling in the tent, but there were several students there, seemingly   
waiting for Kouji. While we walked I had not realized that the students had broken off to   
visit friends in other universities, or enjoy the scenery of Beijing and the Square. Soon   
there were only the brothers and I left. The students immediately stood when Kouji entered,  
and all of them smiled with relief when they saw the "foreign reporters" had come with him.  
One remained standing when all the others sat down again, and I stopped inwardly chortling  
at the show of respect the others had for Kouji when I caught sight of the stranger's eyes-  
  
-a fan made of steel, fire everywhere, spreading -  
  
I started, and Hikou laid a concerned hand on my shoulder. I let him lean on me,   
letting him pretend that he was leaning on me because he was putting out his cigarette   
rather than reassuring me from something. This feeling, wasn't it the feeling one felt when  
you saw someone you knew, just hadn't seen for a long time? I had never felt a pang of   
emotion this strong, and it scared me. Why would I feel as if I knew a person I had never   
seen before? But somehow, somehow, I knew that this was not the first time I had seen him.  
  
He was a strange sort of Chinese. He had the eyes, but the red hair stood out, as   
did the twin strings of colorful beads around his neck. I was tempted to ask him where he   
had gotten those. But before I could say anything, Kouji had pushed Hikou and I to the   
middle of the circle and said proudly, "This is Houjun and you already know Hikou, my   
brother. They are reporters from Britain".   
  
Apparently, this had more than surpassed the highest expectations of the circle of   
students. After the announcement had been made, they murmured amongst each other and stole   
glances at us. Hikou and I had had good sense not to dress as we usually had in Britain:   
long slacks, a neat shirt and tie with a jacket on the outside. Here we dressed like the   
rest of the students, in shorts and a T-shirt. Kouji pulled me over to one corner and   
shoved a bundle of cloth at me. "Put it on", he said, smiling a little apprehensively, as   
if he thought I wouldn't try it on. I opened it up, and read the Chinese letters. "Praise   
for democracy!", it read. I started to take off my shirt and then stopped.  
  
Suddenly, I was very, very scared about taking my shirt off in front of that   
stranger with the red hair. I could feel his eyes on me, searching me. I felt like I was   
being looked into, and self-consciously (and rather embarressedly) turned around and then   
slipped the new T-shirt over my head. Now they couldn't tell if I was reporter or student,   
that is, if I didn't open my mouth.  
  
I turned back to the conversation the other students were talking about. Kouji and   
another student were deep in conversation, but Hikou was just standing by the tent entrance,  
calmly looking and taking notes once in a while. A question or two would pop up to him,   
and he would answer in a slow, almost patient drawl, signaling that he meant nothing but   
business. I tried to listen to everything at once, and my pen scribbled faster than I had   
thought possible.   
  
The students were planning to petition. , they said. Inwardly I was worried. These students, they were disorganized, they   
knew that they wanted but didn't know how to get democracy. They had studied the government  
of other countries and still, they didn't fully understand them. Some, as I could see from  
peering out of the tent, were just coming here for the fun of it, by the way they were   
laughing and slapping each other on their shoulders. They weren't aware what they were   
getting into, I thought. They didn't know that if this succeeded, their whole nation, their  
whole lives, could be changed drastically.  
  
Whether that was for better of for worse, I could not be sure.  
  
That night, my first night under the Beijing Moon, was spent in a rickety, shabby   
looking tent, but the students seemed proud that they could present such finery to their   
foreign friends. There was only a blanket and my jacket as a pillow, but still, it felt   
comfortable. The life and feeling of Beijing; it felt like a river, flowing fast, never   
stopping -  
  
-half blinded, I struggled to reach his hand through the waters of the flood -  
-and I was back in my tent. But I felt as if I had been drenched with water, soaked  
to the skin, and had lost something important, something that I shouldn't have lost, even   
to risk my own life for it in such a flood. But how did I know it was a flood? It was   
strange, the way the universe worked. This had not been the first time I had seen these   
visions, but people often pictured things when they heard something that reminded them of   
something else. In my case, the flood, the flames from the Kou, that stranger's eyes.  
  
Beijing, so far, was very strange. But I felt at home here, with the language I   
loved, the people that were willing to listen and tell, and something else, something whose   
word I could not quite grasp -  
  
- need. I felt like I was needed here, not just another reporter doing absolutely   
nothing but writing in circles about the suspicious movements of the Russian army on the   
border of Moscow and Europe, or the unnatural weather patterns over Ireland during the   
summer compared to the winter. I felt as if I were part of that river, part of that   
movement, flowing over the stones effortlessly, skimming over slimy moss and shiny fish   
scales with no difficulty at all. It was a new feeling, and it made me feel strangely   
comfortable. It didn't matter that I was a reporter from a foreign land who was wearing a   
shirt that wasn't written in his native language, nor did it matter that I was part of a   
movement that was looking to overthrow, or at least reform, the government of the nation   
that held the most population in the world.  
  
I felt like I was doing something I had done before. Softly I crept outside, and   
left my tent flap a bit ajar so that people knew I wasn't in. I didn't quite know where I   
was going, just that I needed to walk, and savor the strangely familiar feeling of Chinese   
soil underneath my feet. This was the soil I had walked before, ancient and used but still   
strong, the soil of many peoples' labors and strife. To my mind there came pictures I had   
never seen before: farmers in rice paddies, coolies shielding the sun from their heads;   
shopkeepers welcoming customers into their shop and treating them with an almost humble   
courtesy that people bowed back to. The Chinese were strong people, even from the   
oppression from the Communist government that they felt. They could still rise up and shake  
the hills of their home with their strength and march column after column over the roads   
they had built themselves. The Chinese were the river of the world, providing goods and the  
power to make them; they flowed together, thought together, and acted together.   
  
It was then I realized that this protest would be a failure.  
  
The people of China needed to stand up together to change the government. Just the   
students (who were the future of China) weren't enough. The whole country had to rise up   
not just a few hundred. It was too little force; the government needed a shove, not a push.  
Regret chased itself around my mind, and I knew that someone would die because of this.   
  
But how did I know this? Had all of this been preordained by some force from above?  
As if they had answered, I found myself looking at the sky. Dark, mysterious as it always  
was, it revealed no answers on how I could have known that. But the stars they looked the   
same.  
  
This was strange. As a child back in Britain, I had always loved looking at the   
stars. They were bright and twinkled. As I grew older I didn't have time for that anymore,  
with school and then college, then work. There wasn't anytime for anything else, but now,   
looking at the sky I felt like I was young again. My left eye blurred a little and I rubbed  
it. The night sky cleared again and I saw, almost as if from a dream, a constellation that  
looked very, very familiar.  
  
It almost looked like a lopsided chair. Why was it I seeing something familiar in   
everything in Beijing?  
  
-"Well. That's the name of the constellation. Well"-  
  
Then the stars seemed to go out, one by one, like the lights before a show, and   
before my eyes there came pictures. People I had never known, places I hadn't seen: purple-  
haired guys cutting off their hair, a sword of ancient beauty in an emperor's hand, a fan   
that spouted flames the last person I had seen before, and I closed my eyes and compared to   
the two pictures together. They looked alike, this Tasuki and the Kou in this world. My   
eyes opened again at the light touch on my shoulder and I stared right into golden eyes.  
  
I reached out and fingered the colorful beads around his neck. "I know why you wear  
these", was all I said. He looked up at me, and I could see that he was remembering too   
the times we had together. My left eye blurred again and I shut it. The world spun into   
familiar focus, and I realized I was more comfortable looking out through one eye than from   
two. The stars were back in the sky, I noticed. They looked down at me, as did all the   
other constellations.  
  
"Looks like we're the last ones left again, Chichiri", said Kou, and I nodded   
absentmindedly. I was too absorbed in watching his face, peaceful and thoughtful, something  
that the old Tasuki rarely did. Finally he turned back to me and put his hand on my   
shoulder. "Goodnight", he said in ancient Chinese. He looked a little surprised that he   
could still speak it, but then his gaze became thoughtful again and his hand slid from my   
shoulder as he walked away.  
  
I spent my first night in Beijing under the stars.  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
So, finally Houjun and Kou get their memories back. *sighs* At least that's done  
being explained. So, just enjoy the rest of the story, sorry if all the mumbo-jumbo about  
politics confused you, but if you really want to know about this event, you have to know  
who started the whole thing in the first place. But you don't have to get it...it all   
depends on how you're reading it, from a fan's perspective or from a historical perspective.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	5. At Night

Ch.5: At night.  
  
The connection between Kou and I was not formed with words. Kou was not like   
Tasuki, that was as much as I could discern from the scattered memories of my past life that  
I could gather. He was not as talkative as well as not as foul-mouthed, but he still had   
an air around him that commanded leadership. Indeed, he was the unofficial leader of the   
threesome that would approach the steps of the Great Hall on the day of Hu Yaobang's   
memorial service, bearing a petition. They would kneel humbly in front of the 89,000   
students that were gathered now in the Square, and still counting. The schools divided   
themselves up into miniature military-style looking camps. No tourists could get in or out   
of Tiananmen Square; all schools organized watches to keep out anyone who would not help   
with the cause. But the civilians we knew were let in. Most who came in bore water or free  
food for us to sustain ourselves upon. We would be there for the rest of today, until the   
memorial service was done being performed and Li Peng came out. The current Premier, as I   
could tell, was not favorable among the students; he was a weak and very easily influenced   
official in comparison to Ziao Ziyang, who was also expected to be there. We have waited a   
week, said some of the students. But all of China has waited enough for reform in this   
outdated government.  
  
The day passed anxiously. The three students who had sat upon the steps since dawn   
had not moved from their spot. I could see the flame-red hair of Kou, who accepted a glass   
of water from a student from Beijing University. After he had downed the cup like a glass   
of sake, he gave it back and continued his kneeling vigil on the steps, the completed   
petition laid in front of him.  
  
I wished I could be there with him, kneeling with him. It didn't seem right for a   
constellation to ever do anything alone. Perhaps it was because the Suzaku constellations   
had been so closely knit together, and needed support from others. But Kou had the support   
of everyone who was sitting there, in the open sun, sweating like there was water being   
poured down their backs rather than being generated from their own bodies. Fans were out,   
and so were two ambulances, sending students that had fainted from the heat to the hospital,  
then returning to receive more patients. Some could be halfway revived with lukewarm   
water, but others had to be bodily lifted onto stretchers and then transported to the   
ambulances. I tried to help the best I could, but it seemed the student representatives   
from the different schools were embarrassed to let me see such a spectacle. To me, it was   
like anyone else had fainted; it wasn't totally unnatural that someone would faint in this   
heat, but rather possible. I worked with the rest of the volunteer civilians from around   
Tiananmen Square, going around with water and maybe a packet of snacks when they were   
available. I tried not to favor the Beijing University students too much, trying to level   
out how many snacks I dished out to the other university students in contrast to how many I   
gave to the Beijing University. But every few seconds or so, my eyes would shift, almost   
against my own will, to the steps in front of the Great Hall of the People, and look   
intently at the splotch of red-hair against the granite steps.  
  
Memory is a very powerful thing. With the memories of my past life came past   
desires as well. I was not surprised when they awakened that night just a week ago, the   
first time I had walked under Beijing's stars and met up with Kou. Now, I had to catch   
myself from calling him Tasuki, but even when it slipped no one seemed to mind. It was as   
if they knew who I was talking about. I caught Kou too, once, almost calling me 'Chichiri',  
but I never said anything about it, just let it go. I walked, for a week, almost in a   
dream full of different people and different faces, some amazed and some disbelieving that a  
foreign reporter from Britain knew their language. I did not especially look for Kou after  
that one night, and he did not look for me.  
  
The still-purely 'Chichiri' side of me still wanted something, and then the idea was  
starting to take over my rational, realistic mind as well. It was starting to infect me   
with a disease, an idea I couldn't get out of my head. That disease was called love, and   
the idea was that Kou and I could be together.  
  
But all in all, it seemed impossible. , said Hikou once. Plus, Kou was born here; that made it even harder.  
When today was over, I would talk to him, I resolved. But something came up before   
that. Kouji came up to me during the evening, when I had already packed up the tent with   
rough strings and picked up the light pack with a pen and a notepad I had brought, and told   
me that the officials had paid no mind to the three petitioners kneeling at the steps when   
they came out. The students were all starting to grumble, he said, that their waiting for   
naught. I could say nothing, but then Kouji told me something that snapped me to attention:  
Kou was not going back to the university; he was staying at Kouji's small flat, with Hikou   
and I, and was going to boycott the classes like many of the other students who believed in   
the cause.  
  
I could have staggered back in shock. I didn't expect Kou and I to have a chance to  
be alone for at least a while. He was one of the main leaders in this movement, and I   
didn't expect to see him personally and be able to talk to him. Carefully I nodded to   
Kouji, and told him to consult Hikou as well, so that he didn't depend on my opinion alone.   
Of course, I already knew what Hikou's answer would be (obviously yes, he never turned   
anyone away before), but that didn't stop me from trying to get Kou to sleep elsewhere for   
the while.  
  
Was I scared? I wasn't sure. Love was a new thing to me. And I was still shaky on  
the whole subject; was it Chichiri who was in love with Kou/Tasuki, was it me, or was it   
both? Were Chichiri and I the same person? I couldn't be sure; another reason I wanted to   
talk to Kou. But part of me would remember the Tasuki of old, and wonder if he would be   
able to answer.  
  
He moved in with no trouble. Even Hikou should have noticed by now that Kou and I   
had been blatantly avoiding each other. He gave me a strange look the other day when Kou   
entered the room and I walked out. Part of me wanted to stay, part of me wanted to run; I   
couldn't be torn like this…it hurted, when he went past me without a word. He isn't like   
Tasuki, the Chichiri-side of me said. He's quieter, more reserved, more common sense and   
level-headedness than his last life.  
  
I faintly remembered that Tasuki had loved to drink. He could not have been more   
afraid of alcohol in this life.  
  
Some of the students had offered to take them with them for a drink. He declined   
politely but very firmly, and spun heel before they could try to invite him again. It was a  
consolatory drink, for he was one of the people who had 'failed' the rest of the students   
in presenting the petition to the officials. The students had been adamant that they not   
pass the petition to the minor officials, but rather straight to the highest rungs of the   
ladder. Of course, it was not Kou's fault they ignored the petition; it was the officials'   
faults. He shouldn't have been one to blame. So, perhaps he had been right in declining   
the drink that was never for any of his fault anyway. That night he had laid beside me on   
the mattress we had to share because there was no other, but I listened to his breathing,   
and knew he was still awake.  
  
"Kou", I said softly. "Kou", I repeated, louder. In the gloomy dark, I saw him   
turn up his head slightly to look at me. I couldn't see him, but I felt around until I   
reached his hand. I just held it for a moment, until he responded in holding it to his own.  
"Chichiri", he whispered hoarsely back. "I've missed you."  
  
I tugged up his hand, helping him up from the mattress. I watched Hikou and made   
sure he was still sleeping before I pulled Kou out of the room and opened the front door.   
"Let's go for a walk", I suggested. He obeyed without question and joined me in putting on   
shoes. Unwittingly his hand slipped back into mine as we started to walk down the street.   
I clutched it tightly as color rose in my cheeks; the warmth of his hand was so reassuring,   
so real. I had missed how Tasuki had felt near me, too, his cheerfulness and brash ways   
leaving me more empty than I would have ever thought possible. Now he was back again, near   
me, and I felt a ongoing rush of emotion towards him. Some of it was love, some affection,   
some friendliness and some comradeship. In the days that passed I had seen sides of Kou I   
had never seen, but always, there was always a hint of the old Tasuki in there somewhere:   
the tone of voice, the slang that some Beijing teenagers incorporated into their talk, the   
way he moved, the way he wore the beads around his neck proudly…Tasuki was there, in Kou,   
and I smiled when I thought of the similarities between the two.  
  
But Kou was not completely Tasuki. Kou was quieter, more reserved, and like Tasuki,  
very prone to making brilliant remarks when a person least expected them. He didn't quip   
up like Tasuki did at odd moments, but waited his turn. I wondered slightly at this change,  
but Kou wasn't raised in the same surroundings as Tasuki, so I didn't question the fact   
that he was different than the Chichiri part of me remembered.  
  
We were walking through the park, now uncrowded and rather empty, as opposed to the   
morning in Beijing, where there were people doing meditation exercises and Tai Ji Chuan and   
playing mah jong. Now there were no children on the swings, no market vendors selling fresh  
vegetables from the country. It was dark except for a few lamps along the path, but Kou   
seemed to know every stone and every step of the path. Our hands tightened around each   
other, and he led me underneath a lamp that seemed very lonely. There he took my other hand  
and sandwiched them. "Let's go", he said. "Let's go to the country."  
  
His eyes were glinting orange, fiery and passionate, underneath the lamp. They   
seemed dark and strange to me, but the song he sang in his words was so inviting. I knew   
what he meant to say: "Let's go back to Konan, and see if it is still there". I didn't   
doubt that there still were signs of the Red South, but where would we go? What would   
happen here? As if he heard my questions, he shook his head slightly and red bangs danced   
over his eyes and in my daydreams. "We'll go to my parents' house in the country. What   
happens here...that is for Suzaku to decide."  
I looked hard at him then, wondering what had possessed him to say that. He had   
used the old god's name, our god, the god we had served. I wanted to protest that Beijing   
was not in Konan's original territory, but then I saw the eagerness in his eyes and found my  
words stick to my throat.  
  
Tasuki's eyes were staring out at me, curious and young and full of life. I felt my  
resolve crumble with his keen gaze. "Yes", I whispered in return, "hao. Let's go."  
  
He smiled at me then, and kissed me under the lamplight.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
So. Looks like Kou/Tasuki is in love with Houjun/Chichiri as well. Don't ask me  
why Houjun, who's British, has a name 'Houjun'. Shouldn't it be 'Charles' or something?   
Well, to answer that, I have to say that if I named his Charles or something, I'm not sure  
people would know that it was Chichiri's reincarnation. So, I stuck with Houjun. If you   
realize, I didn't use 'Genrou' or 'Shun'u' for Tasuki either. So bear with me here.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	6. In the Country

Ch.6: In the Country  
  
Kou and I spent the first night on our trip in the back a wagon that looked as if it  
hadn't been used in many, many years. It smelled like hay and moldy dew and a hundred   
other things I couldn't exactly name at the moment. But it reminded of many things: the   
childhood back in Britain, back in ancient China, and then all circled back around to land   
on the person that was by my side now, staring ahead and looking as if he were going to have  
to plow the whole field before it was dark and had a faint hope that he could do it. Of   
course, that wasn't possible because it was already dark, the sun was setting, and as the   
sun went down, it seemed to dampen his and my hopes for the future as well. Suddenly I felt  
like I had to do something, to make him happier, make him realize that he wasn't in this   
all alone. He wasn't, after all; he had the support of the students, the support of the   
university staff, and me. My hand crept over and laid quietly on his.  
  
As soon as we touched, a jolt made its way through me. I shivered, and he took my   
hand in both of his and rubbed it between his palms. Then I settled in his arms and closed   
my eyes. But I couldn't sleep, not until we got to somewhere we could stay for the night.   
Kou was keeping an eye for some abandoned barn or maybe a neighbor or even the cart owner's   
house. I kept vigil with him, and I knew he felt more secure because of it. I didn't   
sleep, and just listened to the sounds outside of the cart: the last birds singing their   
chirpy songs, then fading into the dusk; the wind rustling what was left of the vegetables   
the cart owner had sold this morning; and the slight sound of Kou's heartbeat, so faint I   
could barely hear it because I was on the other side of his chest. I leaned in and placed   
my ear to his chest fully.  
  
I think he was surprised I wasn't asleep yet. But I had been a monk in my last   
life, and monks could meditate in the same position for a long time. I even think that was   
what I had been doing for a long time, meditating without noticing that I was. But his arms  
tightened around me, and I held his hand close to me. Not opening my eyes, I savored the   
warm that was on my neck from his steady breath, in and out, in and out.  
  
It felt good to be alive. It felt even better knowing that Kou was near me.  
  
I remembered little of where Kou had led me, just that we had taken the bus from the  
heart of Beijing to the outermost outpost in the suburbs. I remembered that when we got   
back from the park we had been running, and we laughed and danced up the stairs regardless   
of the lights that went on in the windows around us. I remembered that when we came back   
out, packing a few clothes and as much money as we had on us, Kou had opened the door and   
held me in his arms, then leaned down and kissed me. I remembered the sweet taste of that   
kiss, full of hope and joy mixed in with the old Tasuki's brash actions and eagerness,   
plunging head-on against the world when it was the last thing he could do. And I remembered  
I had kissed back, my mouth melting on his, my hand clutching his shirt as he took me, both  
into his arms and into his heart, and locked me in. It was a prison I was glad to be in.  
  
It was later the next day, in the glowing evening, when the last beams of light   
rayed through the slowly filtering clouds, that I picked up my notepad and pencil and began   
to draw. It came to me as an image, and as I saw the slowly approaching mountains, they   
seemed to match, a puzzle clicking the last pieces into place, and my hand began to move on   
its own accord. I did not know how long I drew, or how long Kou watched me pencil strokes I  
had never seen before, but when I was done I did remember that he had been crying.  
  
In front of me was a picture of the top of Mt. Black, complete with snow and the   
magnificent view behind it, and beside the (now) deserted cave, there was a small sapling, a  
still young tree with branches that swayed with the wind. The leaves seem to come alive on  
the paper, and rustle their secret melody in front of my eyes, and suddenly I could see it,  
in color, coming alive before my eyes. I held on to Kou and leaned as close I could to   
him, and gave him the notepad. He looked at it, and just stared for a moment as his tears   
started to trickle down faster than ever, then put his head on top of mine. "Willow", he   
croaked. "Nuriko's grave."  
  
We held each other for the remainder of the night, and had never been so grateful   
that at least we were still two, not Nuriko, alone until the few moments before his death.   
Perhaps it was him who let us come together, two by two, instead of coming back alone? It   
was certainly possible, and as far as Nuriko was concerned, everyone's happiness was put in   
front of his. Selfless were his actions, and selfish was he for getting all the love of us.  
But we never regretted it; Nuriko had been in us all, warm and comforting, bringing us   
together when we weren't supposed to meet in this world.  
  
It took us three days to get to Kou's house, over the mountains, and into the   
village at the bottom of what had been Mt. Leikaku. Kou looked a ironically at the small   
hut, and said softly to himself, "Even the house is the same." He didn't know I had been   
listening.  
  
"But you aren't", I answered softly, and he looked quickly at me. He took me by the  
hand and led me behind his house. It was quiet in there, and it unnerved me to hear   
Tasuki's house so silent and empty. It seemed my eyes had betrayed my feelings, and Kou   
reassured me, saying, "Everyone's out in the fields right now. It's behind these trees."   
Here he paused, and then gave a glance to the light pack I had on my back. "I just thought   
-just thought you might -want to draw some of China's landscape -or something like that."   
He fidgeted and looked down, embarrassed. I almost laughed; he looked so bashful, like a   
child who wanted something but was afraid to ask for it. I took his chin in my hand, and   
said softly, "I would love to", and my hand stroked his cheek. His eyes seemed to brighten,  
even though his facial expression didn't change, and it was almost with a comical air of   
lightheadedness that we skipped the rest of the way down the path and into the woods.  
  
He led me to a clearing. I looked around, and realized it looked very much like a   
cylinder, as if the trees had been planted that way. "This was my hideout, or should I say,  
Tasuki's hideout." He looked pleased, and I tried hard not to smile. "Tasuki would hide   
here whenever his sisters and his mother came out looking for him. Later they found out   
where it was, but he still liked it here anyway, so he came here as often as he could", he   
stopped here and got a strange, faraway look in his eyes, almost sad but not quite. "Then   
he ran away, to the mountain bandits, and didn't get to see his sister all that much   
anymore." He lowered his head, almost in shame, and I almost reached out for him to give   
him a hug. "He knew his family loved him, but he just had to get away from it all, just had  
to do something different for once."  
  
I really did reach out for him then, and ran my fingers softly down his cheeks,   
tracing the trail of tears shed before. He clasped my hand and just held it there, not   
moving, his eyes looking deep into mine, as if he were reading my very inward thoughts.  
  
Who made the first move first will never be known. The next moment I was lying with  
my back in the soft grass, and my mind was singing as he kissed me, Indeed, it was, it felt like our bodies had been made to fit together, our kisses   
made to be passionate to each other, our strokes and caresses only betraying our most   
inwardly kept secrets, locked deep within our minds, and came out through our fingers in   
bursts of magical flame. We danced in the shade, the shapes of leaves drifting over our   
faces like wraiths, leaving no mark, and then we sang out as one and shuddered as the magic   
left us drained. But not empty, no, we were filled to the brim with happiness, and the   
sense that something had been completed.  
  
We kissed then, lying in the soft grass, our breaths melding together in soft,   
lovely hands that touched our faces lightly and then disappeared. He came to me first, and   
our kiss was so sweet, so utterly perfect that tears ran down my cheeks when our lips   
parted. It was as if I were the blind man seeing the world for the first time, the deaf   
warrior that finally heard the cheers of the crowd as well as the harmony of birdsong, the   
man whose life was repetitive and dull, and finally saw the world in color. He would marvel  
and compliment it, seeing how beautiful it was now as compared to before, and love the   
world even more.  
  
My world came in the form of a red-haired, reincarnated-Suzaku-seishi student   
protester who looked at me then, looming over me with light in his eyes. He collapsed   
beside me and we held each other. I felt I could go on like that, lying in his arms until   
the world ended and flames sprung up around us. I could have laid there, so comfortable and  
peaceful in his arms, for all eternity until the world stopped spinning and the whole   
universe went kabang and exploded. The sunlight, the leaves, the way he held me, so   
tenderly and lovingly, I could stay there forever, in that wood, in the middle of nowhere in  
China, just sitting and enjoying the music of the trees.  
  
But too late the songs of the returning workers reached my ears, and with heavy   
hearts he lifted me up and shouldered our packs. Even through the dense trees I could see   
the light through the window, and a part of me wanted to just stop and not go in and stay   
here forever with Kou. But he led me firmly through the brush and to the back door of the   
house. He raised his hand to knock, then stopped, as if the nerve had failed him. He   
turned back to me, and I felt the love in his gaze. Stooping to satisfy our raging   
passions, he leaned down and very softly, very gently, as if I were made of glass, kissed me  
on the lips. It made me cry out inwardly for more, and I was sure my eyes pleaded with him  
to make it last longer, but he gave one last longing look at me and knocked on the door.  
  
The Chichiri in my heart sang out, for he had seen Tasuki in that gaze.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
SAP!!! This chapter was all sap. At least by my standards, very strangely written  
sap. Oh dear, what is the world coming to? I knew I was a bad writer, but this is   
ridiculous! Especially the last part about Chichiri singing out...*coughs* Should I change  
it? It seems very, very out of place there. Or, maybe it's just me.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	7. Turning Back

Ch.7: Turning Back  
  
She turned to me and asked, "You really love him, don't you?"  
  
I stopped working for a moment and just thought about the question for a moment.   
The bag of unplanted seeds slid a little down my shoulder and I straightened. The water of   
the rice paddy pooled around my ankles and I swirled my toes in the mud. I wasn't used to   
manual labor, since I had been working behind a desk for the greater part of my life so far,  
but my childhood from the country seemed to come alive again and take over, for I found   
planting rice seedlings was more easy than I had originally thought. "I won't deny that   
he's a good lover", I said carefully, "but I also won't say that I don't care."  
  
This seemed to satisfy her. She turned back to her row and I turned back to mine.   
But I could feel her gaze on my back from time to time, either to check up on me or -   
perhaps something else?  
  
It seemed hardly noon before I heard the call for lunch. I straightened and the   
vertebrates in my neck and backed gave little pops. I threw out my hand to take the   
unwelcome pack of unplanted seedlings from my back and the strap slipped down my arm - as   
the back of my hand collided with something. I whirled around as there came a splash behind  
me, followed by a gurgle that sounded vaguely like a chuckle. From what I could see from   
above, there were two bare legs sticking out from the water, a white T-shirt floating at the  
surface, and a patch of red hair. A hand came up, grasping for something to pull him up,   
and quickly I threw out my hand only to have her slap it away. I hadn't noticed she had   
come up behind me.  
  
Kou fell back into the paddy at once. Bubbles churned the surface, and I could tell  
he was either laughing or very annoyed. "Let my stupid brother go", she said. "He's been   
fine taking care of himself. It'll be good for him to get soaked, anyway. When he was a   
baby he never liked the shower."  
  
Kou came up spluttering. Evidently he had heard every word. "Aidou", he said mock-  
annoyed, "don't do that to me! You know I hate the water." He looked at me knowingly, and   
gave a all-the-way trademark Tasuki-fang-smirk. "At least she doesn't throw logs anymore",   
he muttered, but I had to stifle a giggle at the age-old reminder of Tasuki's apparently   
very still-very strong sister. I should tell him about the back wheels of that truck she   
took out of the puddle yesterday, I thought, and vowed I would tell him later. But for   
now, it was time for lunch, and we spread out in the thin line of trees that lined the   
perimeter of this rice paddy. It gave a secluded, isolated feeling from the rest of the   
world, not totally unwelcome for a past monk. There wasn't much for lunch, just the usual   
fare for the farmers, but completely new to me. Food consisted of plain rice and some   
pickled vegetables. There was no meat, for most farmers didn't have time to hunt or enough   
money to buy any meat from the people who sold it in the marketplace. Just the same, I was   
thankful there was no meat; the Chichiri side of me would have protested that his monk-hood   
was being violated. It was new, this fare, a welcome change from the regular packets of   
hard cocktail crackers I ate with water every day. As for drinks, we drank right out of the  
rice paddy pool. I coughed the first time I drank it, convinced that it was some parasite   
that came out of the mud and into my mouth that was choking me. It turned out to be just a   
water bubble down the wrong tube, and the feeling subsided after a while. The rice paddy   
water was not actually dirty; the water in it was being changed every minute of the day   
because the river that supplied the water was always moving and renewing the water that   
flowed through the canals.  
  
The days passed lazily, like the clouds in the sky, unwilling to part with such   
beautiful greenery before they hit the deserts and crags that stuck up like toothless gums -  
who would want to leave this land? It was fertile, rich in soil and in spirit (and of   
course, a part of me said "full of potential boyfriends). It didn't seem to lack anything,   
not even in history. The wars were glorious, and even when they failed to achieve victory,   
the Chinese could hold their heads up proudly. They were a people that could not be   
subdued, and were always adamant in their claims. Never bowing down to anyone, they were   
full of pride for their ancestors and knew that they had to make themselves worthy of praise  
in further generations down the line. To me, life was not perfect in China, but it was the  
closest - the very closest - I felt any person could get to paradise.  
  
I turned to Aidou and voiced a question that had been on my mind for some while now.  
"The villagers don't pay any attention to the student doings on the wireless radio. Why   
do they not join in? They could raise the countryside with their cries of democracy, and   
then the Party would have to reform their government. Why do the countrymen not support the  
student's cause?"  
  
Kou looked away. Aidou looked from me to him, and shook her head. The movement   
sent brilliant sparks to fly from her hair. Like arrows, I thought, shot into the darkness   
of the world. "A little while ago the country was rich", she answered slowly. "Not in   
resources, but rather in money."  
  
"Money?", I asked curiously. It had never occurred to me that the countryside of   
China would ever be rich. In fact, I admitted ashamedly, it looked anything but rich. The   
people were kind and generous, of course, but that was to be expected of the Chinese;   
courteous even when they were beggars and the only thing they could offer was the rags they   
wore and servitude to a person for the rest of their life. The Chinese were born polite,   
and took it as a personal insult whenever someone rejected a highly-placed offer close to   
their hearts. When a gift was given, it was meant to be received. And since the Chinese   
were so polite, the other party usually gave a gift in return. China was full of gift-  
giving, full of people who gave more than just shelter and food, but their hearts. The   
hearts of the Chinese were more valuable than gold. But they were most definetaly not rich.  
  
"Yes, money", Aidou looked impatient and nervous all at once. "When our city   
cousins found out the wealth we earned now, they wanted that same wealth too. So", She   
paused, and gave a quick, furtive glance towards Kou. I realized he was squinting, wincing   
as if the next few words would prick him like a needle.  
  
"...it lead to inflation", I finished, and laid a hand on Kou's fist, clenched so   
tightly that the knuckles had turned white. When my gesture brought no response, I placed   
my palm over his hand, and that seemed to snap a chord within him. His hand flew from under  
my hand and around my body, into his arms, so strong and so safe, and I felt that emotion   
again, the rushing river that China was, all hidden inside this one man, trembling so hard   
that it hurt. It never occurred to me until that Kou might be scared, petrified of what he   
was doing and what might happen if he didn't succeed. My hand shook as I clung to his   
shirt, and I drank in his scent, smelling of the earth and everything grounded, but soaring   
like a bird, free up in the sky. Closing my eyes, I bit back a sob and just clung tighter.  
  
What would happen to him if this student protest didn't succeed? I knew it   
wouldn't, but just what would happen? What would happen to the students? What punishment   
would be given to those who participated? What would happen if I had to go and Kou had to   
remain?  
  
I willed myself not to think that. "No", I whispered, suddenly and fiercely to his   
chest. "I won't ever leave you."  
  
I think that was what he was listening for, for then his arms tightened around me   
and his head fell wearily against my shoulder. He was tired. Tired from walking, from   
singing the Internationale, from shouting and giving encouragement until his voice hurt and   
his lungs became choked with the campfires in the evening. I stroked his hair and whispered  
soft words to him, murmuring and rocking him back and forth like a child. A child, he   
looked, for his face was clenched as if he were afraid, and his arms clung to me as if I   
were his mother. I held him as close I could, and just let him rest. But if I knew Tasuki,  
Kou was not much more different, and I vowed that he would be up and running again soon.   
Tasuki never stayed down for long; he was too stubborn to do that.  
  
A week passed, and our goodbyes were short but not final. They all knew that Kou   
would come back alive; he was too strong to die just yet. Beside the villagers, he looked   
young and healthy and in his prime, able to live and shout out life. A cart passed through   
ever morning (the same cart that brought us here) and took us away to Beijing. As the   
village in the mountains fell from sight and from the view of the descending hill, I saw the  
villagers disperse and walk away, until there was only one figure left. She wasn't waving,  
but I could tell by her hair that she was Aidou.  
  
Kou's hand slipped into mine, as it did customarily every time we were near each   
other. It was strange, how his any touch could send quivers up my spine, and give me   
permission to scoot up closer to him and let me savor more of his warmth. It was like our   
touch was a channel, a canal where instead of cool liquid water there flowed hot liquid   
fire, like flames but hotter, more warmth and less hostility. I took his hand and held it   
against my cheek, feeling the flames grow to include my face in its circuit of warmth. Kou   
looked a little surprised at this, and when I asked why, he only pointed to the almost-gone   
figure of his sister at the top of the hill. "Aidou", he said softly, as if she could hear;  
we were far out of earshot. "Didn't you see the way she was looking at you? She's in love  
with you."  
  
I stared at him in amazement. "How could that be? I'm sure I would have noticed!"  
  
Kou looked at me and gave a wry smile. "It always seems that the two people, the   
person who is in love and person who is being loved, are always oblivious to each other's   
feelings." He smiled here and put his arm around me. "But I noticed, being the great,   
observant reincarnation of Tasuki that I am."  
  
I realized after a moment it was a joke, and laughed at the fact that he hadn't made  
a joke until now rather than laughing at the joke. But if we were laughing for two   
different reasons, we didn't care; the sun was hot and high up in the sky, the day was   
perfect, and greenery spread pleasingly to the eye around us. I was with the one I loved,   
sitting here beside me, looking as if he hadn't aged one jot since Tasuki died. But inside   
I was afraid; even though I was glad that we were returning and hadn't put off any more days  
of getting back to the protests and the students. My fear only increased at what we might   
find there, since the crackly wireless radio Kou's house had didn't provide much   
information. The radio stations were monitored by the Communist Party in China, so any   
rebellion or putting out information that was restricted to them to put out would result in   
them put into jail for life or fined so hard their business couldn't run anymore. Would Kou  
face the same? Would I still be there for him if such a misfortune befell him? I had   
promised I would always be there for him, yet here I was...going back on it?  
Suddenly the sky didn't seem so inviting, and the open wide fields of rice and   
millet paddies seemed constricting. The only comfort I had, to my side, didn't seem so warm  
anymore. As the warmth from his fingers flowed through my entire being, I felt it drop   
down to zero degrees, and I shivered.  
  
His face peered before me. The eyes didn't seem as kind, or as bright. "Are you   
all right? Should I ask the driver to take a rest?" I shook my head and mumbled that I was  
fine. He turned back to watch the scenery pass by, but his face was troubled. Had he seen  
my innermost thoughts, and was now feeling betrayed?  
  
No, the truth was I was not all right. Not all right at all. 


	8. A Foreign Boyfriend

Ch.8: A Foreign Boyfriend  
  
When we got to back to Beijing a few days later, we headed straight for the   
apartment. We didn't race, though, nor did we kiss as we crossed the threshold. But still,  
holding us together, was a love that was quickly turning bittersweet. I was more than   
certain that Kou had already noticed a change in me, for good or for bad, but he didn't pay   
any more attention to it than he had to; we were both worried and rather yearning to stay in  
the country. In the country, all you could think about was freedom...away from the   
troubles of the cities, from the Party and their petty problems. After all, who had to feed  
the people? Let the tigers and sharks tear each other apart, for the countrymen were the   
plants and rocks. The tiger and the shark could not eat them. The fields and work were the  
countrymens' lives, and war didn't touch them unless it shook its fist right at their   
faces.  
  
It was easy to understand why the farmers were so satisfied with their simple life.   
It was also easy to understand why Kou wanted so badly to leave. Tasuki had never been a   
patient person; he was the wild card, the person who wanted to do something other than plow   
fields all day. He was the first one in his little village to go to college. It was rather  
disturbing to see the Tasuki from a long time ago, studying for the first time since   
Chichiri had known him. Since it didn't seem to make any dent in our relationship, I saw no  
reason why to go further into the subject. Kou was also like Tasuki in another way: his   
anger. It could not be restrained, but rather cleverly hidden behind a mask of tough-guy   
nonchalance. You could tell, after centuries of knowing him, the anger from Tasuki could   
only be hidden, not restrained. Tasuki had his own mind and his own ideals, and didn't let   
anyone get in his way. Kou didn't have the idiocy to go charging into a gang of bullies,   
but knew well enough with the part of his brain that wasn't clouded by anger at the moment   
that attacking a gang of bullies would be a bad idea. He never ran from a fight, no matter   
for which event small or large.  
  
When we opened the door, and called out Hikou and Kouji's names several times, we   
realized no one seemed to be home. Stepping inside, the bedroom, I noted that Hikou's   
writing materials were gone. Telling this to Kou, he took the bicycle he had loaned from   
someone and began pedaling as fast as he could down the street, to Tiananmen Square.   
"That's where they would go if there was a demonstration going on", said Kou matter-of-  
factly. When I asked who he borrowed the bicycle from, he just said, "A guy who was passing  
by. I don't think he realized I had just taken his bicycle. Now climb on behind me."  
  
Riding the back of a bike was a new experience. I clung to Kou as hard as I could,   
hoping he wouldn't take any abrupt turns somewhere and knock me off. But the momentum in   
his turns were never enough to throw me off, and so I stayed on until we reached Qianmen   
St., the street that ran up to Tiananmen Square. On the other side of the Square I could   
see other bicyclists pedaling on the other street, Chang'an Avenue, but when Kou asked me to  
see what he saw in the Square, all bicycle fears disappeared.  
  
There were several hundred thousand students sitting there. There were sentries at   
each pillar around the compound, almost like a military camp, but in considerably better   
condition. It was then I noticed there was an ambulance where my tent had once sat, that   
first night under the Beijing stars, and that there were two medics struggling to lift a   
prone figure onto the back of the car. Hopping off as gently as I could, I waved to Kou   
(who was smart enough to see where I was going and saw I was going to help the medics) and   
then hurried toward the medics. As I neared, I could see one was either scolding or   
advising the other one, but in hushed whispers, as if the person they carried was not yet   
dead and they were whispering about who his property would go to. As they saw me nearing,   
they abruptly stopped conversing and turned to look at me. Seeing that they were either in   
awe I was a foreign reporter or that I was a foreign reporter who spoke Chinese, I couldn't   
know, but I greeted both politely, and when it became apparent they would do nothing to   
help, I lifted the stretcher by myself and slid it into place. "Now", I said   
conversationally, "what is happening here? I just came back from the country, and I want to  
know what is happening. Why has that person fainted? And why are you staring at me like   
that? Is it because I am a foreign reporter?"  
  
The elder medic shook his head and pointed to the far end of the field. "We've got   
enough publicity to fill an ocean with camera fishes", he groaned, and through the warm,   
shimmering haze that was early afternoon in Beijing, I could see plainly there were several   
blondes and brunettes, all in a circle and conversing animatedly with each other. I turned my head away in disgust. No doubt they were describing how Deng Xiaoping picked his nose on Wednesday when he thought no one was looking. But there was no time to speculate any longer; there was another two medics with a stretcher between them, and looking very tired, for the had come from the Guangdong University part of the movement on the far side of the Square. This student, at least, was half-awake, and as I helped him sit up to take a drink of water, I questioned him for what the news were, since the two medics still seemed awed at me. "Hunger strike", he managed to dazedly whisper out. "Heat got to me…" And then he went out of it completely. Sighing at the still-google-eyed medics, I put the boy's head back down and slid the stretcher into a space. The two other medics who had come with the last hunger striker got wordlessly into the ambulance and chugged away merrily. I was left with myself and two still-dazed medics.  
  
"Just what are you staring at? A spot on my nose?", I asked, annoyed. It wasn't as  
if I had grown another head, that I had a tail, or had water buffalo horns coming out of my  
ears! That would be something to stare at indeed.  
  
That comment seemed to wake them up. The younger-looking one (he must be an intern)  
looked down when I locked gazes with him, and blushed furiously. "I - I heard that you're   
Kou Shunu's foreign boyfriend, that's all." The other medic, older, probably experienced,   
nodded agreement rapidly. The poor younger boy seemed very, very nervous on having   
confessed such a secret. I was surprised; had the whole movement known before us? Who   
could have told everyone? I wished the gods would give me an answer-  
  
-and it came in the form of my partner, leaning casually on a nearby pillar and   
looking not only a little smug, but also bored. "Took you long enough", he said over his   
cigarette. He tipped the ashes on the ground and gave it another puff before stamping it   
out. "Got info. Come over here."  
  
He was situated in a little lean-to away from the rest of the crowd. Perhaps it was  
the other way around: the people stayed away from him. I smiled a little to myself at the   
thought that they might be scared of a political criminal. Of course, I didn't think Hikou   
would be willing to share that. But that was not why I was here; I was here to see what   
Hikou had written down. As usual, my partner's notes were scrawled all over the pages, but   
I saw nine straight pages of writing, written upside down and all around when he ran out of   
room on the actual lines. To my amazement he had also written on the backsides of the   
pages, something that seemed almost impossible because I could never turn the notepads fully  
around. Hikou leaned over at my look of surprise. "Couldn't find any place to get another  
notepad", he answered.   
  
I skimmed the lines. It was all as the fainting boy had said...'hunger strikers',   
'democracy for the peoples of China', and a march that we had missed on April 26th. I   
looked sheepishly up at Hikou when I came to that part. We had missed a march, Kou and I.   
This was disgraceful, for Kou was an important member of the movement, and people must have   
thought that I had pulled Kou away from the movement and the protests. Out of the corner of  
my eye, I saw Hikou pull out another cigarette and I frowned; cigarettes weren't exactly   
the promoter of good health.  
  
"Took you long enough", he repeated, and lit up. I glanced at him for a moment, and  
calmly asked, "Took me long enough to do what? Get back here or get together with Kou?"   
Out of the corner of my eye he snorted. "Both", he said, and gave a wry chuckle. Another   
puff on his cigarette, and he reached his hand out for my notepad. I handed it to him,   
completely forgetting what I had drawn inside.  
  
With a practiced air of one who had expertise in this area, he flipped through the   
pages, nodding to himself once a while as if he heard music in his head constantly, like   
Beethoven did when he was deaf. There actually weren't many pictures in the notepad, but   
all of them were from memories of my past life. The third picture especially took a long   
time; it was a picture of the battlefield where Hotohori last stood on, a sword pointing   
towards the heavens swordpoint-first with a scrap of red cloth on it. With lack of anything  
better to use for the red on the cloth (the only color other than black that could possibly  
be found in the calligraphy store in town), I bought a red stamp pad and colored in the   
little scrap with the tip of my pencil. Since I had nothing else to do with the stamp pad   
anymore, I went into the nearest actual town and bought a stamp with the village's name on   
it. Giving it to the mayor/in-charge, I also gave the once-used stamp pad. I highly   
doubted that stamp pad would be used before it dried out.  
  
There were two pictures of the palace, one of the front look of the temple, the   
other of the main doors, magnificent and forbidding, then the red carpet leading to the   
throne room with the 'court of gossipers', as Chichiri liked to call it. But Hotohori had   
made sure his court had not just had a good memory for gossip, but had keen minds and a   
taste for waking up early as well. Chichiri couldn't bear to be around them for long; their  
voices seemed too loud for his tastes for quiet and peace, and the whispers seemed to   
follow him wherever he went.  
  
At last, Hikou came to the last page. He frowned and I froze, forgetting completely  
the sketch I had made on the last day, when the memories came back so swiftly that I barely  
had time to catch them. I held my breath, and saw as he traced the pencil marks as if in a  
deep memory. I didn't need to know that he thought the picture was...familiar...in some   
way. It was a picture of our village after all, with three people standing at the side of   
the door. Two faces I purposefully shaded out, hoping that Hikou would not realize the   
posture of the bodies and see who they really were. The village, with its huts at the edge   
and the door posts on each side, looked so familiar, so forlorn against the giant mountains   
in the background. So insignificant, like these students struggle for something that they   
couldn't grasp. What were they waiting for? The government's strike back?  
  
The last picture he took the most time in looking at. Perhaps he was wondering why   
he was so drawn to it, and I prayed reverently, piously, to Suzaku those moments, hoping he   
would not remember anything. Finally he handed it back, still frowning, and I let out the   
breath I had been holding for so long, unnoticed. He gave me an absent nod and then turned   
away, probably still thinking about the picture and where he had seen it before. But   
without the faces of the two people standing beside me he would never find out, and I   
clutched the notepad to my chest like a vice, a lock that could not be opened because it   
refused to be opened.  
  
Behind me the ambulance ambled had ambled its way back to the Square, ready for more  
students who had fainted from the heat or the lack of food. Putting my notebook aside in   
the farthest corner of Hikou's tent, I left it and went under the trees to help the medics.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Well, I did promise I'd have Ch.8 before the weekend ended, so here it is. So, you  
may be asking, why didn't Hikou get back his memories? Or Kouji, for that matter? Well,  
the seishi (by pure popular belief) have more attachments to their last lives because they  
had magical powers and all that...I guess the memories are a lot more exciting than regular  
people's memories, so they have a better grip on them...does this make sense? I'm sorry  
if this was YOUR idea first, hope you don't mind if I borrow it, but it seems all the rein-  
carnation stories have this idea in them.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	9. Untelevised Talks

Ch.9: Untelevised Talks  
  
It was only the second day of the strike, and the government was already moving.   
They sent a very wheedling "old geezer" as Kouji described him, to the student leaders' tent  
in the morning, bearing a document that detonated that 5 student leaders were to meet   
there, at the Great Hall of the People, in the afternoon of that day. As I sat anxiously in  
the corner while they decided amongst themselves whether or not they should accept the   
invitation they had been waiting for, and the whole purpose of the strike was for, they   
weren't completely sure. "You will publicize this on television, won't you?", the students   
asked anxiously. But the representative's assurations that it would be televised, the news   
narrowed frowns and suspicions: was the government, currently trapped under Ziao Ziyang's   
finger, going to do as they asked? It was more than possible that nothing would be achieved  
in the meeting.  
  
As for me, I was worried that this government might do something even more drastic:   
possibly kill the students? That would cause pandemonium among the student protesters   
without their respective university leaders, and the protest would be called off immediately  
without the government even having to call in the surrounding police. But as I presented   
the notion to Kouji, he laughed and waved it off. "Don't you see? It would be them, not   
us, that suffered the consequences if that happened." He gave a roguish wink, one I fondly   
remembered, and continued, "They would be seen as barbarians by the rest of the world if   
they did that. They can't cover up something as big as that under the world's nose now that  
everyone's focusing on the protests in China." I felt relieved, but not by much.  
  
I had not rested, yet my eyes, ears and hands were always busy taking down notes and  
consulting separate student "cliques" as it might seem, about their opinion. I wrote the   
final draft of the first installment for the journal back in Britain and sent it out. I   
prayed that the government wouldn't open the document up and bar out the lines. That would   
be a waste, but I had no other choice; I did not want to ask any of the other reporters from  
any other place to send it for me. There was a possibility I could sent it directly from   
Hong Kong since they had direct contact with Britain, but that was too long of a trip, and   
Kou and I had just gotten back from the country.  
  
My eyes seemed to peer into every face, seeing if the students' causes were real, if  
they really truly believed that this could succeed. Some turned away. Others looked up   
and met my gaze, not knowing what I was looking for. Others, very few students, met my gaze  
with a madly determined glint, the will to succeed rising high above the dense air of   
Beijing. There were surprising many students who fell from the heat on the first day alone;  
I would have thought that the Beijing-born would be more resistant to their own weather.   
Some of the other students didn't collapse because of the heat, but rather by the vow of not  
eating anything. Students fell when their legs wouldn't support them anymore when they   
were helping the medics lift stretchers onto ambulances and mop fevered heads with lukewarm   
water. It felt like a war field I was trapped in except there was no blood. I gave my   
hands willing to their cause, but not believing in it myself; a true doctor was one who   
treated everyone, enemy or friend.   
  
I myself, were not put under orders to starve myself. I had little time to spare,   
but when Kou came up to me, he looked at me when my stomach suddenly growled and asked if I   
had eaten. "No", I answered, and at his look of alarm, added quickly, "because I have not a  
spare moment since we got back." He sighed in relief and made me promise that when the   
medics had a spare moment I would go out of the Square and find something to eat. On   
addition, he gave me several coins and pointed out a noodle shop at the end of the street,   
then nodded and left.  
  
He didn't look back. Oh, how I wanted to see him look back and smile like he did in  
the country, like I knew he could smile! But he had other things to do; he was busier than  
I was, organizing the strike and speaking about any possible plans to get the government to  
talk with them. People needed him more than I did; selfish I was, at that moment, thinking  
that I could have Kou to myself even though I knew he had better things to do. This was   
where he belonged, I said to myself, not always in my arms. He belongs here, where the   
turmoil is, where he can command his forces from the higher ground, and deliver the trusted   
letter to the emperor himself.  
  
I did not talk with any of the reporters unless I had to. They were - quite -   
disrespectful. Drinking and galvanizing inside of the Square, I caught the line of stares   
mostly pointed at the sandwiches in their hands, the bowls of instant noodles on their   
stools or on top of their video cameras. I felt the very distinct urge to take their food   
and dash it all to the ground - but I was a reporter myself, so it would be even more   
disrespectful. Didn't they realize what these students were trying to do? Reporters did not  
just report the event; they caught the soul, the spirit of the action and told it to the   
world. Whether or not the world heard didn't matter; what did was that it was the truth. Of   
course, which, most reporters would not say in the first place. Most reporters embellished   
the stories beyond belief; no doubt that would be the case here, in Beijing as well. This   
was true as I heard one of the reporters say (rather loudly, in my presence) that he had   
heard that one of the chosen student representatives had a boyfriend who was a reporter.   
Some of the loudmouth's friends glanced at me, but I took their stares and sent it right   
back. The loudmouth reporter himself didn't notice.  
  
The reporters who wished to attend the meeting were allowed to stand (or sit, if   
they brought chairs) at the back of the hearing. With me came Hikou and Kouji, and we   
occupied a corner behind the last row, where we could clearly see out through the heads.   
Taking care to arrive early, we jotted down what notes we could discern from the whispers   
and murmurs around us. In the afternoon the student leaders arrived, still wearing their   
flabby T-shirts that had crudely written letters, all from different universities.   
Nevertheless they were proud, and when they walked past the officials their gaze was not   
haughty, but merciful, the expressions not proud but benign.  
  
The whole of China seemed to hold with bated breath. Was this the talk that would   
change their country? Would it shape their soil with twisted fingers? Or would it bring   
glory and wealth flowing like rain on their heads?  
  
The air was intense as they entered. All China was listening, watching on   
television what had been forbidden for so many years. Their words, the very breath from   
their mouths seemed to either doom China or bring it to salvation. It wasn't like a tennis   
match, where it was clear-cut who would catch the ball and send it back, but rather like   
chess, where the pieces spoke when they wanted, moved when they wanted, taking up offense   
and defense alternately. For an hour my mind was fully concentrated on their words, their   
banter back and forth deciding what would be the final judgment of the nation with the most   
population in the world. The notes on my lap were forgotten, as the ones that Hikou was   
taking. Instead we took in their words like honey, like water or oxygen, knowing that this   
was the last word, that this was the place and time the fate of a country - the country I   
had served for so long, even before this life - would be placed. I couldn't say that I   
didn't pray to Suzaku himself that he might be able to help me, or rather the students, in   
their quest for democracy.  
  
Behind me, my thoughts were broken by the shuffle of feet and murmured apologies   
between the snatches of translating from student to reporter. Then a hand tapped Kouji on   
the shoulder, and they whispered for a little while. The new student was from Qianhua   
University, as far as I could tell, but the air of secrecy mystified me, but when Kouji came  
up again, his face grave, I knew it could not be good news that the student brought. To my  
abject disbelief, Kouji rose and approached the table at the far end of the Hall, where the  
student leaders were sitting, listening attentively to what another official was saying.   
Across the table, Kouji held another whispered with the only girl there, Chai Ling, also   
from Beijing University. As far as I could tell, she had been chosen because she   
represented the female student population. The other representatives listened in, but when   
Kouji was finished and had made his way back to the chair at my side, his face grave, I   
wished to ask him just what had that been all about. Before I could ask, Chai Ling stood,   
upright and tall, the only female in the council and proud to be so. "We have confirmation   
that this conversation has not been televised", she said.  
  
I started abruptly. The government had actually refused this simple request? But   
Kouji seemed to hear my unsaid question and murmured softly to me, "They don't want this to   
be televised just in case they do something stupid, like say a bad word or stutter. It's   
all about face in China." I trembled with anger. They could not be possibly this narrow-  
minded to see that this was the only way things would be achieved!  
  
One of the officials flushed visibly. The meeting had taken an abrupt turn. One of  
the Party turned his head (rather haughtily) in her direction. "We see no need to show   
this to the public", he said calmly. Chai Ling did not sit down, but remained standing, her  
gaze becoming cold and hard. For a moment I did not see her, but instead, an empress, high  
on her throne with her head held high. By her side I could almost see the form of a child,  
barely fifteen, an emperor in his own right. Their heads were lifted, and I could see the   
power she held in her hand as the sole leader of this movement. Her voice came down like   
thunder and I knew the final decision had been made. "Then these talks will not go on", she  
said. Her voice was soft but full of purpose, full of mercy. On the other side of the   
circle on of the Party members shifted uncomfortably before he spoke. Countering her words,  
his voice sounded weak and seemed to pale before it reached the ears of the listeners. "We  
don't see why we need to publicize this when it seems hat the whole world is watching   
already."  
  
"But that is the point", Kou argued, standing up. To my amazement I could see his   
aura around him, faintly glowing, his eyes fierce with belief. "The whole world is watching  
- so give them the truth!" At the last exclamation, everyone started except for the   
students at the table, but Kou did not stop there. "we must let the world know that we are   
China, that we are still powerful, and we are able to change smoothly and efficiently   
without losing what is the spirit of China." Here he stopped, and looked directly at me. I  
could feel his eyes searching, watching for me, and a ghost of the warmth crept down my   
back, tingling me to the bottom of my toes. "Love is what we feel for this earthly soil   
that giver us our name in the world", he said more slowly, still looking directly at me.   
"Love is the river on which our fortunes flow. Let us ride upon this river, and show them   
that China is ours to hold, and that our fortune river is strong."  
  
And with those parting words, the 5 students left the hall.  
  
* * *  
  
I could hear the other reporters grumbling about the lack of information that the   
meetings had supplied. This was because they had to go through a translator in order to get  
their information. Some reporters had hired, or just used, students who knew both   
languages to interpret for them. This was not a good method; anyone from Beijing had a   
distinct accent to their English, which only served to confuse the reporters. I, however,   
got enough notes out of the meeting to last me several pages. When I looked over them, I   
noted in surprise that all of them had been written in Chinese. Over my shoulder a shadow   
peered, and eyes scanned my notes. "So", the other reporter said finally, "you're that   
'Kou' character's boyfriend, aren't you?"  
  
I turned around and calmly regarded him. "Are you surprised?", I asked, but in my   
mind I noted he did not look like much, just a tangle of confusion at what was going on in   
China at the moment. He probably hadn't understood anything that his translator had spoken   
to him at all, and through my eyes came a dangerous gleam. This was exactly the kind of   
reporter I didn't like.  
  
"No", he chuckled, "but I'm surprised to find a well-off reporter in a hell like   
this-"  
  
In half a second he was pinned to the nearest pillar, his front collar of his shirt   
bunched up in a strong, tanned fist and his head oozing blood slowly down his neck like the   
sweat that had broke out in his forehead. The unfortunate character had been lifted a clear  
food off of the ground, his legs giving little feeble movements as if he were choking   
Kouji had green eyes, always twinkling, sometimes with light of happiness, sometimes with   
light of battle. Now, he looked up at the man he held suspended over his head, and said   
silkily "Did you call this a hell?" in almost-perfect English.  
  
The poor man couldn't shake his head or reply; his head seemed a bit stuck between   
the collars of his shirt. Kouji looked at him for a moment, contemplating whether or not to  
hit him again, and then threw him carelessly to the side. The man hit the ground and air   
whooshed visibly from his lungs. Kouji aimed a rather savage kick to the man's midsection,   
then turned heel and walked away, mumbling "Not worth my time" in Chinese. Taking one last   
contemptuous look at the reporter, I followed Kouji's example and walked away. I had not   
gone three paces when his shout stopped me.  
  
"Hey you!", came his snarling voice. I stopped and winced at the raw choice of   
words. I DID have a name, even if the other reporter didn't bother to use it. "Yeah, you.   
Don't think this movement will succeed! 'Cause it won't!"  
  
Very slowly, very deliberately I turned and regarded him as best I could. He   
flinched and looked down quickly, like the coward he was. "I know that", I said softly,   
half-hoping he wouldn't hear, and felt a twinge of regret for what these students had to pay  
after working so hard. "I know that. The whole country must stand up, and the countryside  
isn't participating. I know very, very well that these students won't gain any ground at   
all against the government. It is more important how they go about trying to achieve this   
goal than the actual achieving of the goal itself."  
  
But in my heart I contradicted my words, because in truth, the result the students   
wanted to get was much, much more than the students could afford to pay.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
If you've noticed, this is the second time I've written this chapter. The first   
time, I felt it wasn't good enough. So, I wrote it over. Hope you like it. Contrary to   
popular belief, the students weren't aiming to overthrow the government; they were just   
asking for a public vote from the populous. And about China's government refusing to   
televise the talks and all; if China HAD televised them, what would the world say if the   
students had actually achieved a point. The Party members would be disgraced. So, in   
order to keep face, they called off the cameras and just talked nonsense so then they   
wouldn't have any fear of the students or the world knowing what they were saying.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	10. Tides

Ch.10: Tides  
  
The day Li Peng summoned the same 5 student representatives from the strike for   
another pointless round of (thankfully) now televised talks, I dreamt of waves.  
  
I could not see anything but swirling waters around me, but I could feel the   
strength of soil beneath me, clinging to the shores like a vice. Even the ground would be   
washed away by turbulent waters someday, but for now it held strong, and through it flowed   
lines of power, invisible at first but to the trained eye, lines that cut below the water   
and bent like plastic straws in soda. The waters lapped at my clothes, sensing something   
other than the familiar in their surroundings, and I felt the tug of something else, from   
above. Clear as the day was the night and its glinting companions above with their master,   
the moon. It pulled at the dark liquid that pooled around me, and bending down I gathered   
the drops in my hand and threw them outward as if to try to stop the tide. The tide was   
coming in. The tide was coming in to end the solid rock behind me. Laying a hand on the   
shore, I could sense the trepedition of the ground below, and the bracing of onslaught from   
the waves. The water was coming in fast, and below me the ground shivered and shook,   
telling me to go, telling me to run back because I could. Through closed eyelids I could   
see the students joining arms with regular civilians, moving buses single-handedly, erecting  
barricades on the streets. And through my mind there came the chant:   
  
Then there was the afternoon in front of me. There was no moon, no stars, no carpet  
of navy stretching out on the horizon as far as I could see. There were only too many   
people in the already-crowded Beijing park: people doing Tai Chi, gambling over mahjong,   
children running around playing tag or four-square or skipping rope. There was absolutely   
no sign that there had ever been swirling water, tides, stars, or anything of the like.   
There had been no change from when I had started to drift off until now -   
  
-except my formerly half-eaten bowl of noodles had not been cleanly empty.  
  
Jumping to my feet, I checked my pockets and was relieved to find that coins still   
jangled in them. Nothing had been stolen from me except a half-eaten lunch. Yet a grunt   
sounded as I stood up, and the person who had been leaning on me while he slept looked up at  
me blearily and asked only as Tasuki could ask, "What the HELL was that for?"  
  
He looked completely nonplused when I burst out laughing. I guess it was a very un-  
Chichiri thing to do.   
  
When I finally stopped and I had sat back down, he took me by the shoulders and very  
deliberately asked, "Houjun, are you sick?" and his face split into a fanged grin. Peals   
of laughter crept and surprised us again, and the elderly grandmothers that were passing by   
to escort their children home stared at us strangely. I couldn't blame them; who could say   
that two men, both clearly wearing demonstration shirts with a empty Styrofoam bowl that was  
supposedly full of noodles sitting between them, and laughing like there would be no more   
laughter tomorrow? As the thought crossed my mind, I abruptly stopped. Who was to say that  
tomorrow the Army wouldn't come storming in at this very moment? That would take the   
laughter from everyone but the Party.  
  
"Houjun?", Kou's head was tucked towards mine in a concerned fashion, his eyes   
furrowed. At his touch I stiffened and closed my eyes away from his. This only served to   
give him a reason to panic; his grip immediately lessened, and he turned away. The park was  
quiet now that the sun had almost completely set. The cicadas had stopped chirping, one by  
one falling silent while the stars above seemed to sing in place of them. Quietly, as if   
afraid, I heard him ask, "Is it me?"  
  
Was this Tasuki? Had I - could I - reduce the proud warrior down to this?   
Stuttering over my answer, I could not find anything to say. My mouth opened and closed,   
but the words stuck as my mind went frantically over the options I might have to say. As   
his eyes swayed back to me, my mouth clicked horribly loud in the silence between us and I   
shook my head. , I tried to tell him, knowing he could not hear; the constellations   
were not telepathic, and neither were their reincarnations.   
  
"Then what is the matter?", he exploded in a very-Tasuki-like way. "Is it the   
Party? The strike? Kouji? Hikou? Just WHO ELSE have you been sleeping with ?" Then he   
stopped, and covered his mouth, obviously believing he had said too much. I stared up at   
his standing figure, seeing the eyes afraid of what I might have to say, and found I could   
not smile. I wanted to; it would have made everything better. He would have believed me,   
but all that came out was a few words in a croaky language I was astonished he understood.   
"No one", I answered. "That is not the problem."  
  
He looked at me, really LOOKED at me then, and then turned away. "Then what is   
it?", he asked urgently, as if his life depended on it. It very well could have been the   
case; his hopes were riding on this unseen breeze that might tilt him and send him crashing   
down any moment, and as much as he loved to fly, he was afraid of the fall and that maybe he  
would find it wasn't worth it to fly when he had to crash... Afraid, that was what we both  
were at the moment. Around him was the shroud of distrust and around me there was the   
belief, the wanting to trust. From my mouth there came another set of strange words that I   
could not understand.  
  
"What would you do if I got hurt?", I countered to his question, and I saw the   
surprise stir in his eyes. Puzzled at my out-of-the blue question, he scrutinized me like a  
bug under a microscope before slowly answering. , I thought. .  
  
"I would get you away from here", he seemed to taste each word carefully,   
enunciating each syllable as if it were a strange new food to be discovered. "I would get   
you back to Britain. It would be safer there for you anyway." His face seemed to soften,   
but his eyes grew troubled and my heart started to beat faster. Was he telling me to go   
away? "I wish you weren't here, Houjun. That way I would be able to know you wouldn't get   
hurt because of me in whatever twisted way Fate works."   
  
This was more than I had expected from him. On regular conversation, Kou could not   
be counted on to put more than "hmm" and "yeah" every once in a while, and the vague   
sentence or two. Kou was the listener, having considerable more patience in his mindset   
than Tasuki. No doubt Kou had gone through many more disappointments in life, though none   
quite as severe as the loss of the Suzaku constellations, one by one. While Tasuki nor Kou   
seemed outwardly bright, neither lacked heart nor bravery, and those occasionally gave way   
to some mad spurt of intelligence that seemed completely random and utterly unpredictable.   
That was Tasuki: the Wild Card, the sliding shadow that should not ever be overlooked.  
  
"But then I wouldn't have met you, Houjun", he looked down at me with the faint   
warmth around him, creeping out to brush against me like flamelets. I shivered from the   
sudden warmth while coldness fled from me, leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake.   
Leaning close to me he softly grazed his cheek against mine and then looked into my eyes for  
a long, long time. I was not completely sure what he was searching for: lies, distrust, or  
loyalty? But whatever he had been looking for seemed to be found, and when my heart   
finally seemed to halt beating because of the intensity of his gaze, he smiled faintly as no  
one else could do, and led me out of the park, my hand firmly (and warmly) grasped within   
his.   
  
I did not pester him about eating the rest of my lunch. He had me fully satisfied   
as I was.  
  
* * *  
  
"I had decided that you are the strangest couple I have ever seen", Hikou declared   
to me the next day. Thoroughly perplexed, I did not hesitate to ask why. "Because", he   
started grandly, "Kou finds you in the park, you talk for a little while, then stare at each  
other like you're reading each others' minds and have no need to talk, and then you break   
apart and walk down the street still looking at each other with those romantic googly-eyes   
that I would never, NEVER had imagined you could do!"   
  
I was scandalized. "You followed us!"  
  
My partner smirked a very evil smirk. "I believe gossip is good for the soul.   
There is no other way to get gossip but to follow your partner and his new boyfriend and not  
completely wondering what they were going to do. All I can say is that when Kou neared the  
park, I was a little disappointed that he didn't have some fancy-dancy collapsible feather   
bed so you could screw each other in comfort."  
  
Astonished, I gasped, "Hikou!" before one of the helpers ran up to me for the second  
time that day. "Can you drive the bus down four blocks to Huali Street? They have food   
donations there to be picked up. Use one of those taxis. You have a license, right?" Very  
glad to get away from THAT particular conversation, I picked up the keys the volunteer   
handed me and began to drive down the allotted location. Due to the number of students   
crowding the two hospitals near enough to take fainted students (and to the fact that the   
government was going to declare martial law sometime soon), the student leaders had called   
off the hunger strike and set up a mass sit-in as a substitute. This was all very well for   
the students, but as for the Square - it was completely packed with people. Most weren't   
even students; they had joined when the sit-in had been announced. With the rest of the   
students under the humid Beijing sun they all sat, fanning with their fans, some with   
umbrellas set up, others with just a cloth draped over four sticks. Food donations had been  
streaming in steadily, but most students did not know how to drive; it was usually   
volunteers who had licenses that drove up and down the streets for donations. Not that the   
non-license-holding students couldn't have driven down the streets as well since all the   
police were practically gone and there were only civilians chatting away before another bus   
chugged by and they screamed and waved like fans before a pop idol. Sometimes buses were   
driven; taxi drivers and some volunteers donated their cars and drivers for a day   
(obviously, the taxi driver was not paid) so that enough food could be collected to feed the  
several thousand students. The students who held licenses were few because they simply had  
too much to do during school that they had no time to get lessons. Most either waited   
until summer to get it (if they weren't taking too many classes) or after they finished   
school to get it. They did, however, all own bicycles; no one needed a license for that.  
  
Further down the street a person waved me over. Almost unconsciously I pulled over   
and reeled down the window. To my disgust, it was the rude reporter that had been so   
mercilessly strangled a few days ago. He did not seem to mind me, or my brusque intent on   
ignoring him until we got back to the Square, but when I drove forward onto the next block   
he tapped my shoulder and asked dumbly, "Where are we going?"  
  
"Donations, then back to the Square", I answered stiffly. Either this or my crisp   
demeanor seemed to give the desired effect, and he sank back onto the seats and asked no   
more questions. He did not get out or help in any way when I piled the three large boxes of  
instant noodle, drinkable water, plastic fans and multicolored cheap towels into the trunk.  
Only when we had just turned into the Square's outer perimeter did he say anything.   
  
"Tides. They're changing", he said nonchalantly. I bristled; was he trying to   
scare me? I knew as well as any that Beijing was about to be thrown into something it was   
not quite ready for. When I did not answer, he added, "Better watch out, Suzaku   
constellation Chichiri."  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
If you read my original Chapter 10, you would know just WHY I had to rewrite this.   
It sucked. Completely. So, instead, I wrote it again, but this last part after the "***"  
sign was completely out of the blue. I had NOT planned this when I rewrote it. All I can   
say is that I've planned a curveball right back at myself. Just how am I going to explain  
all of this?  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	11. The Army Advances

Ch.11: The Army Advances  
  
Chichiri had very much been a man who liked to be sure of everything, and as his   
reincarnation I was basically the same. However, even the most tightly controlled people   
could be absolutely thrown off of the horse sometime, and this was definitely one of them.   
As soon as my previous name flew from his lips I slammed the brakes so hard my forehead it   
the top of the steering wheel. It was a good thing I stopped when I did; a fully armed tank  
towered high over my little compact I was borrowing. Behind me cars started to honk (I   
wasn't moving), but then all abruptly stopped as the giant towered over us all. In the   
silence that followed there suddenly came a scream - either it was me or a woman from the   
cars behind me, and suddenly the whole street came alive with car horns blaring, radios   
turned up to the very loudest so the soldiers operating the tanks could hear "The traitorous  
Army that has come kill our patriotic students...", and people escaping out of their cars   
and holding their heads in terror as they ran away. I could not see anything but the gray,   
scraped metal of the tank, the gun perched jauntily on the tank's head, and the rolling   
chained wheels that threatened to crush my little vehicle any moment it wanted to.  
  
I think it was the 'annoying reporter', as Kouji had begun to call him, that pulled   
me out of the car. He muttered things into my ear that I couldn't hear, half-dragged and   
half-led me out of the door; all there was the rush of fear and the thought that continually  
ran 360 around my head:   
  
The 'annoying reporter' stepped in front of me once we were on the sidewalk and said  
clearly, "Suzaku constellation Chichiri, I demand you get up!" When I failed to see him or  
even seem to hear him, he pulled me to my feet and walked back to the car just as the   
crowds of students and civilians from Tiananmen Square started to gather.  
  
They filed in tidy rows, between the columns of roads and the sidewalks, over the   
lane lines, their feet making no sound on the pavement even though there came the crunch of   
gravel under their shoes. To me they weren't walking - they were floating, the determined   
air that surrounded them their wings. As my eyes slowly drew to the tank, it seemed to   
shrink as the students' confidence rose. The protesters seemed to be the rock monoliths on   
the shore, taking more than the waves had time for to crumble. They surrounded the tank   
completely, entering from the other side of the street, their voices rising clear over the   
rising storm that was Beijing. , my mind told me, .   
  
I did not hear the voice calling me until it shouted straight into my ear over the   
din that was the crowd attempting to block the tank. Before my eyes a gray haze seemed to   
have lifted, and the sounds hit me full in the face: shouts, slogans, the waving of crudely,  
hastily made signs that were overrun with Chinese characters. "Houjun!", Kou shook my   
shoulders roughly. I could barely hear him, but by the look on his face he was worried, not  
just about me; the students had pushed up to the tank and some had started to climb on it.   
The machine creaked forward several notches abruptly, trying to dislodge the students that   
were blocking its vision. While I had not noticed Kou slipped his hand into mine and nudged  
me with his cheek. "The Army arrived this morning. Didn't you hear?" I almost protested   
as several students climbed onto the car I had been driving and started to shake their fists  
angrily at the metal they could not intrude. Kou's face remained impassive, and as I   
looked on I knew that this was exactly what he had planned, exactly what he knew would   
happen.  
  
Then the tank moved forward a few feet, and a student screamed. The other students   
scattered, giving a wide berth to the tank, still shouting slogans but their voices seemed   
muted, more subdued. Grabbing my hand Kou forced his way inside and we dragged the student   
away from the tank, which backed away as if it did not believe that it had actually injured   
someone. Willing hands brought the student into the shop directly behind the crowd, and I   
swiftly cleaned and dressed the wound. As I tied on a splint for the student's leg, Kou   
talked rapidly in Chinese that I couldn't understand, sounding old and rustic, a mix between  
the mountainous regions and the slang of Beijing. I tried to follow, but before I could   
catch anything, the student had asked me in a joking voice, "How did a reporter manage to   
learn how to splint a leg?"  
  
Thoroughly surprised, I stared straight into the face of Kouji, who shared identical  
grins with Kou beside him. I bit back a scolding for getting injured (and a smile at the   
similarity between the two friends) and settled for a frown that wouldn't last; Kouji was   
too easy to forgive, and it was not his fault he was injured. As for the question he asked - I could only say that Chichiri's training had included medical training, and that it had not gone entirely to waste.  
Speaking of, the tank outside gave an ominous grunt and started to roll down the   
street, much to the dismay of the students and civilian protesters. Frantically Kou and I   
rushed to the doorway, blocked by the amount of students trying to avoid the tank, Kouji   
hobbling up behind us. The Beijing student gave a growl at the bad view. Making a large   
show of his injured leg, he pulled Kou and I after him upstairs, where the shopkeepers   
huddled together in the corner of the room. Yells and challenges shook the walls in their   
fury, but no one wanted to get close to the tank; no one wanted to share Kouji's injury.   
Kou watched desperately as the tank neared the next intersection, one block closer to   
Tiananmen Square. I knew what he wanted to see: anyone, just anyone, stand up to that tank!  
Throw it back, send it back to the base to tell that one person managed to stop it.  
  
Miracle of all miracles - the 'annoying reporter' stepped away from the madly   
chaotic crowd and in front of the tank. For a moment, everyone was silent. Softly, Kou   
said, "That reporter..." and we watched to see what he would do as the tank halted its   
rollers not two inches away from his head, then backed a few feet so it would not completely  
crash into him.  
  
The reporter took step forward, eyes determined, and the tank took a step back,   
giving ground. All around, protesters started to cheer. They did not stop even when 'that   
annoying reporter' faced the tank down at the end of the street and the crowd surrounded it   
again, preventing it from going anywhere but back. I saw the reporter walk away from the   
crowd, his gait oddly familiar -  
  
- "Give up You will never succeed alone" -  
  
-confident and wary of all followers that pursued him, asking loudly about how he   
got the courage to stand up to the tank when it could have killed him, how he could have   
walked the tank always back to the end of the road it had rolled from. When he seemed   
unwilling to talk, they slacked off and generally began to peel away. Then he disappeared   
around the corner of the street and from my line of vision.  
  
"He's a government reporter", Kouji supplied when I asked Kou who he was. "His name  
is Tanxi, and he is from Hong Kong." His voice dropped down to a conspiratory whisper.   
"He was caught in a scandal a few years ago, and that's why the government keeps such close   
tabs on him. He was supposed to interview this official that everyone thought had this   
underground business, and it was discovered after the official never showed up for the   
interview that his wife had been involved in the same business, and when he came home she   
was dead, committed suicide. Still, people believe he drove her to her death", he said   
gravely, and a ripple of more than unease cast it way through me. Drove her to her death?   
The story seemed so familiar -  
  
- "Tenmei! Where is she?" -  
  
-and I gasped for air. Chichiri! Of course, his fiancee had committed suicide. I   
choked, and my head fell onto Kou's welcoming shoulder as I tried my hardest not to look   
distressed and calmed my wheezing breaths. Warmth surged from his fingertips but it all   
seemed cold and distant. Someone had made the same mistake? How could this Tanxi possibly   
be so stupid? How could he do that to the person he loved? He had made the same mistake I   
had, and did not seem to be the least affected by it!  
  
Kouji was staring at us curiously. I had a feeling he knew there was something   
other than just love was between, but something that went back a long ways. Giving me a   
small pat on the shoulder, he hobbled to the stairway and I heard him clumping down the   
stairs. The family above the shop in the corner followed him like frightened mice,   
squealing in fear when a single creak was heard from the wooden stairs.  
  
Kou hushed me. "Don't you realize who he is? He's the reincarnation of Tenku,   
Houjun. It's no surprise that he doesn't care."  
  
I jolted upright in surprise. "But that's not possible!", I exclaimed. "The rules   
of reincarnation clearly state that a person marked 'denied reincarnation' cannot be   
pardoned. Tenku was the first in nearly a century to receive that decree, but that is no   
excuse for what he did to other people!"  
  
"True", Kou said softly, "but I talked with him, and he revealed everything to me.   
The story Kouji told isn't all of it. Most people still fear him because they expect him to  
jump out at them with a knife or something. They think there is something wrong with his   
mind."  
  
"But it's still true that he forced his wife to her death, isn't it?", I challenged.  
"He deserves all of that because he failed to protect the one he loved the most. He   
failed to change the future of what Chichiri's future should have been. He should have   
stayed denied." I held my head in my hands at the expense of Tanxi's shame.  
  
Kou sighed, and his eyes held sympathy for both Tanxi's plight and my stubbornness.   
"The law changed about 250 years ago, and his human persona was reincarnated. His want for  
power was taken away, as his power itself. The Gods are keeping more of an eye on him than  
any other reincarnation anywhere. He's harmless, Houjun."  
  
"No!", I cried. "That's not what I was referring to. What I was talking about was   
that he is still the same as the battle so long ago. He is still heartless, uncaring to the  
people around him." I took a breath to steady myself. "Even without his want for power,   
overlooking the fact he is not a complete person without that aspect of his being, he is   
still one that should not be trusted."  
  
Kou smiled wanly at me. "And that is why he stopped the tank outside from not   
killing all those students?" He held up a hand when I started to protest. "Houjun, he is a  
person too. He was brought up differently in this world, so he is not nearly as wicked as   
he was back then. He is different. I had to speak with him because some of the reporters   
wanted information. He is not a bad man."  
  
I trembled with suppressed anger. I could not take it out here, on Kou or the walls  
or the furniture lying about in the room. "And just why do you trust him? He is a   
government reporter, isn't he?"  
  
Kou just shook his head slowly in "I don't know". "Maybe because he is like us,   
Houjun. Maybe because his story is so like yours I find myself pitying him instead of   
hating him. Maybe because he didn't seem to like or care about what the government told him  
to do and asked me questions about life in the Square during the hunger strike instead. I   
do not trust him either, but I do not believe he will do any harm."  
  
But I wasn't listening. I was already halfway out of the room and down the   
staircase before the last sentence ended.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Oh dear, that was a whirlwind chapter for me. I can't believed I stayed calm while  
I was writing about Tenku. I know that was kinda rushed over, but I can't find anything   
else to say about it, so I just had to cut it short. This chapter may be replaced sometime  
in the future as well; I don't think it's completely polished up yet. God, that was one   
long ramble I had there, going up and down. I planned this all before but it came out   
completely different; I had planned for Tanxi to explain everything to Houjun before the   
tank came along, and then the story took a completely different turn as I started writing   
it. I HATE it when that happens, but it's usually for the better.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


End file.
